HE 

UNIVERSITY 
Of  ILLINOIS 


5SS.S 
D74.  b'.r 
REMOtrE  STORAG 


BIRDS  EVERY  CHILD  SHOULD  KNOW 


I 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


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THE 

CHILDREN’S 

LIBRARY 


NELTJE  BLANC  HAN 


NEW  YORK 

Doubleday,  Page  & Company 
1908 


Copyright,  1907,  by 

DouiiLEDAY,  Page  & Company 


All  rights  reserved^ 

i/icl lull  Jig  that  of  translation  into  foreign  languages^ 
inclnding  the  Scandinavian. 


Jxf  4 7 


^ REMOTE 


I C^’^i  EEiCisE 


PREFACE 

If  all  his  lessons  were  as  joyful  as  learn-^ 
ing  to  know  the  birds  in  the  fields  and  woods, 
there  would  be  no 


“ ...  whining  Schoole-boy  with  his  Satchell 

And  shining  morning  face  creeping  like  Snaile 
Unwillingly  to  schoole.” 


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S 

fN. 

> 


s 


A 


Long  before  his  nine  o’clock  headache  ap- 
pears, lessons  have  begun.  Nature  herself  is 
the  teacher  who  rouses  him  from  his  bed  v/ith 
an  outburst  of  song  under  the  window  and  sets 
his  sleepy  brain  to  wondering  whether  it  was  a 
robin’s  clear,  ringing  call  that  startled  him  from 
his  dreams,  or  the  chipping  sparrow’s  wiry 
tremulo,  or  the  gushing  little  wren’s  tripping 
cadenza.  Interest  in  the  birds  trains  the  ear 
quite  unconsciously.  A keen,  intelligent  listener 
is  rare,  even  among  grown-ups,  but  a child  who 
is  becoming  acquainted  with  the  birds  about 
him  hears  every  sound  and  puzzles  out  its 
meaning  with  a cleverness  that  amazes  those 
with  ears  who  hear  not.  He  responds  to  the 
first  alarm  note  from  the  nesting  blue  birds  in  , 
the  orchard  and  dashes  out  of  the  house  to 
chase  away  a prowling  cat.  He  knows  from 


V 


VI  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

afar  the  distress  caws  of  a company  of  crows 
and  away  he  goes  to  be  sure  that  their  perse- 
cutor is  a hawk.  A faint  tattoo  in  the  woods 
sends  him  climbing  up  a tall  straight  tree  with 
the  confident  expectation  of  finding  a wood- 
pecker’s nest  within  the  hole  in  its  side. 

While  training  his  ears,  Nature  is  also  training 
every  muscle  in  his  body,  sending  him  on  long 
tramps  across  the  fields  in  pursuit  of  a new  bird 
to  be  identified,  making  him  run  and  jump 
fences  and  wade  brooks  and  climb  trees  with  the 
zest  that  produces  an  appetite  like  a saw-mill’s 
and  deep  sleep  at  the  close  of  a happy  day. 

When  President  Roosevelt  was  a boy  he  was 
far  from  strong,  and  his  anxious  father  and 
mother  naturally  encouraged  every  interest 
that  he  showed  in  out-of-door  pleasures.  Among 
these,  perhaps  the  keenest  that  he  had  was  in 
birds.  He  knew  the  haunts  of  every  species 
within  a wide  radius  of  his  home  and  made  a 
large  collection  of  eggs  and  skins  that  he  pre- 
sented to  the  Smithsonian  Museum  when  he 
could  no  longer  endure  the  evidences  of  his 
“youthful  indiscretion,”  as  he  termed  the  col- 
lector’s mania.  But  those  bird  hunts  that 
had  kept  him  happily  employed  in  the  open  air 
all  day  long,  helped  to  make  him  the  strong, 
manly  man  he  is,  whose  wonderful  physical 
endurance  is  not  the  least  factor  of  his  greatness. 
No  one  abhors  the  killing  of  birds  and  the  rob- 


Preface 


vii 

bing  of  nests  more  than  he ; few  men,  not  spec- 
cialists,  know  so  much  about  bird  life. 

Nature,  the  best  teacher  of  us  all,  trains  the 
child’s  eyes  through  study  of  the  birds  to 
quickness  and  precision,  which  are  the  first 
requisites  for  all  intelligent  observation  in  every 
field  of  knowledge.  I know  boys  who  can 
name  a flock  of  ducks  when  they  are  mere  specks 
twinkling  in  their  rapid  rush  across  the  autumn 
sky;  and  girls  who  instantly  recognise  a gold- 
finch by  its  waving  flight  above  the  garden. 
The  white  band  across  the  end  of  the  kingbird’s 
tail  leads  to  his  identification  the  minute  some 
sharp  young  eyes  perceive  it.  At  a consider- 
able distance,  a little  girl  I know  distinguished 
a white-eyed  from  a red-eyed  vireo,  not  by  the 
colour  of  the  iris  of  either  bird’s  eye,  but  by  the 
yellowish  white  bars  on  the  white-eyed  vireo’s 
wings  which  she  had  noticed  at  a glance.  An- 
other girl  named  the  yellow-billed  cuckoo,  al- 
most hidden  among  the  shrubbery,  by  the 
white  thumb-nail  spots  on  the  quills  of  his  out- 
spread tail  where  it  protruded  for  a second 
from  a mass  of  leaves.  A little  urchin  from  the 
New  York  City  slums  was  the  first  to  point  out 
to  his  teacher,  who  had  lived  twenty  years  on  a 
farm,  the  faint  reddish  streaks  on  the  breast  of 
a yellow  warbler  in  Central  Park.  Many  there 
are  who  have  eyes  and  see  not. 

What  does  the  study  of  birds  do  for  the 


viii  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

imagination,  that  high  power  possessed  by  hu- 
mans alone,  that  lifts  them  upward  step  by  step 
into  new  realms  of  discovery  and  joy?  If  the 
thought  of  a tiny  hummingbird,  a mere  atom 
in  the  universe,  migrating  from  New  England 
to  Central  America  will  not  stimulate  a child’s 
imagination,  then  all  the  tales  of  fairies  and 
giants  and  beautiful  princesses  and  wicked 
witches  will  not  cause  his  sluggish  fancy  to 
roam.  Poetry  and  music,  too,  would  fail  to 
stir  it  out  of  the  deadly  commonplace. 

Interest  in  bird  life  exercises  the  sympathies. 
The  child  reflects  something  of  the  joy  of  the 
oriole  whose  ecstasy  of  song  from  the  elm  on 
the  lawn  tells  the  whereabouts  of  a dangling 
“cup  of  felt’’  with  its  deeply  hidden  treasures. 
He  takes  to  heart  the  tragedy  of  a robin’s  mud- 
plastered  nest  in  the  apple  tree  that  was  washed 
apart  by  a storm,  and  experiences  something 
akin  to  remorse  when  he  takes  a mother  bird 
from  the  jaws  of  his  pet  cat.  He  listens  for  the 
return  of  the  bluebirds  to  the  starch-box  home 
he  made  for  them  on  top  of  the  grape  arbour  and 
is  strangely  excited  and  happy  that  bleak  day 
in  March  when  they  re-appear.  It  is  nature 
sympathy,  the  growth  of  the  heart,  not  nature 
study,  the  training  of  the  brain,  that  does  most 
for  us. 

Neltje  Blanchan. 

Mill  Neck,  1906. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Our  Robin  Goodfellow  and  His  Rela- 
tions   3 

Robin,  Bluebird,  Wood  Thrush,  Wilson’s 
Thrush. 

II.  Some  Neighbourly  Acrobats  . • 17 

Chickadee,  Nuthatches,  Titmouse, 
Kinglets. 

III.  A Group  of  Lively  Singers  . . 31 

Mockingbird,  Catbird,  Brown  Thrasher, 
Wrens. 

IV.  The  Warblers 51 

Yellow  Warbler,  Black  and  White  Creep- 
ing Warbler,  Ovenbird,  Maryland  Yellow- 
I throat,  Yellow-breasted  Chat. 

V.  Another  Strictly  American  Family  . 62 

The  Vireos. 

VI.  Birds  Not  of  a Feather  . . .77 

Butcherbirds,  Cedar  Waxwing,  Tanagers. 

VII.  The  Swallows 91 

Purple  Martin,  Barn  Swallow,  Cliff 
Swallow,  Tree  Swallow,  Bank  Swallow. 

VIII.  The  Sparrow  Tribe  . . . .105 

Purple  Finch,  English  Sparrow,  Goldfinch, 
Vesper  Sparrow,  White-crowned  Sparrow, 
White-throated  Sparrow,  Tree  Sparrow, 
Chippy,  Field  Sparrow,  Junco,  Song 


ix 


X 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAOK 

Sparrow,  Swamp  Sparrow,  Fox  Sparrow, 
Towhee,  Cardinal,  Rose-breasted  Gros- 
beak, Indigo  Bunting,  Snowflake. 

IX.  The  Ill-assorted  Blackbird  Family  135 

Bobolink,  Cowbird,  Red-wing,  Meadow- 
lark, Orioles,  Blackbirds. 

X.  Rascals  We  Must  Admire  . . 151 

Crow,  Blue  Jay  and  Canada  Jay. 

XI.  The  Flycatchers  . . . .159 

Kingbird,  Crested  Flycatcher,  Phoebe, 
Pewee,  Least  Flycatcher. 

XII.  Some  Queer  Relations  . . .173 

Nighthawk,  Whip-poor-will,  Chimney 
Swift,  Hummingbird. 

XIII.  Non-union  Carpenters  . . . 187 

Our  Five  Common  Woodpeckers. 

XIV.  Cuckoo  and  Kingfisher  . . . 205 

XV.  Day  and  Night  Allies  of  the 

Farmer 2ir 

Buzzards,  Hawks,  and  Owls. 

XVI.  Whistler  and  Drummer  . , 233 

Bob-white  and  Ruffed  Grouse. 

XVII.  Birds  of  the  Shore  and  Marshes  245 
Snipe,  Sandpiper,  Plover,  Rails  and 
Coots,  Bitterns  and  Herons. 

XVIII.  The  Fastest  Flyers  . . .26$ 

Gulls,  Ducks,  and  Geese. 

• 275 


Index 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


An  Over-flowing  Nestful  of  Robins.  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

It  is  Only  When  he  is  a Baby  that  you 
Could  Guess  our  Robin  is  Really  a Thrush. 

(A.  R,  Dugmore)  .....  8 

Young  Bluebirds  Taking  their  First  Walk. 

{A.  R.  Dugmore)  .....  9 

Baby  Wood  Thrushes — Notice  the  Family 
Resemblance  Between  them  and  the 
Baby  Robins  and  Bluebirds.  {A.  R. 


Dugmore)  . . . . .12 

A Wood  Thrush  Startled  by  the  Click  of  the 
Camera.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  . . *13 

The  Chickadee  at  her  Front  Door.  {A.  R, 
Dugmore)  . . . . . .22 

Young  Nuthatches  Learning  their  First 
Lesson  in  Balancing  on  a Horizontal  Bar. 

(W.  E.  Carlin)  . . . . *23 

The  Noisy  Contents  of  a Soap  Box:  a Family 
of  House  Wrens.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  . 30 

The  Marsh  Wren’s  Round  Cradle  Swung 
Among  the  Rushes.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  . 31 


XI 


xii  List  of  Illustrations 

FACING  PAGB  • 

Like  “Brer  Rabbit*'  the  Catbird  is  Usually 
“Bred  en  Bawn  in  a Brier  Patch." 

{A.  R.  Dugmore)  . . . . .34 

Another  Tragedy  of  the  Nests:  What  Villain 
Ate  the  Catbird’s  Eggs?  {Verne  Morton)  . 35 

“Mamma!"  Young  Mockingbird  Calling  for 
Breakfast.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  ...  50 

All  is  Well  with  this  Yellow  Warbler’s  Nest. 

(G*.  C.  Embody)  . . . . • 

Dinner  for  One:  A Black-and-white  Warbler 
Feeding  her  Baby.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  . 51 

The  Oven-bird  who  Calls  “Teacher,  Teacher, 
TEACHER,  TEACHER,  TEACHER! 

{William  P.  Hopkins)  . . . .58 

Oven-bird  in  her  Cleverly  Hidden  Nest — 

Some  of  the  Leaves  and  Sticks  Have  Been 
Pulled  Away  From  the  Front  to  Secure 
her  Picture.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  . . 59 

Young  Oven-birds  on  Day  of  Leaving  Nest. 

{A.  R.  Dugmore)  . . . . -59 

A Red-eyed  Vireo  Baby  in  his  Cradle. 

{A.  R.  Dugmore)  .....  76 

Out  of  It.  {A.  R.  Dugmore)  . . 76 

Home  of  the  Loggerhead  Shrike  with  Plenty 
of  Convenient  Hooks  for  this  Butcher 
Bird  to  Hang  Meat  On.  {R.  H.  Beebe)  . 77 

The  Cedar  Waxwing.  {W.  P.  Hopkins)  . 84 


List  of  Illustrations 


Xlll 


FACING  PAGE 


The  Gorgeous  Scarlet  Tanager,  who  Sang  in 
this  Tree,  Was  Killed  by  a Sling  Shot.  The 
Nest  Was  Deserted  by  his  Terrified  Mate. 
{A.  R.  Dugmore)  ..... 

Young  Barn  Swallows  Cradled  Under  the 
Rafters.  (A.  R.  Dugmore) 

Baby  Barn  Swallows  Learning  to  Walk  a 
Plank.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 

The  Most  Cheerful  of  Bird  Neighbours:  Song 
Sparrows.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 

A Baby  Chippy  and  its  Two  Big  Rose- 
breasted Grosbeak  Cousins. 

A Chipping  Sparrow  Family:  One  Baby  Satis- 
fied, the  Next  Nearly  So,  the  Third  Still 
Hungry.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 

Cardinal.  {C.  W.  Beebe)  .... 

That  Dusky  Rascal  the  Cowbird.  (C.  W, 
Beebe)  ....... 

The  Gorgeous  Baltimore  Oriole.  {A,  R, 
Dugmore)  ...... 

How  do  you  Suppose  these  Young  Baltimore 
Orioles  Ever  Packed  themselves  into  this 
Nest?  {A.  R.  Dugmore) . 

Young  Orchard  Orioles.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 
“There  Were  Three  Crows  Sat  on  a Tree.*' 
{A,  R.  Dugmore)  ..... 

Blue  Jay  on  her  Nest.  {R.  H.  Beebe)  . 


8S 

96 

97 
116 

116 

t 

117 

134 

135 

146 

147 

150 

151 
158 


XIV 


List  of  Illustrations 


Five  Little  Teasers  Get  No  Dinner  from 
Mamma  Blue  Jay.  {Craig  S.  Thomas) 

Not  Afraid  of  the  Camera:  Baby  Blue  Jays 
Out  for  their  First  Airing.  {Craig  S. 
Thomas)  ...... 

The  Dashing  Great  Crested  Flycatcher. 
{A.  R.  Dugmore)  ..... 

Baby  Kingbirds  in  an  Apple  Tree.  {A.  R. 
Dugmore)  ...... 

Four  Crested  Flycatchers,  who  Need  to  Have 
their  Hair  Brushed.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 
Time  for  these  Young  Phoebes  to  Leave  the 
Nest.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 

Young  Phoebes  on  a Bridge  Trestle.  {A.  R. 
Dugmore)  . ..... 

Least  Flycatchers  in  a Rose  Bush. 
Nighthawk  Resting  in  the  Sunlight.  {John 
Boyd)  . ...... 

A Chimney  Swift  at  Rest.  {C.  W.  Beebe)  . 
Hummingbird  Pumping  Food  into  her  Babies’ 
Crops.  {Julian  Burroughs) 

Twin  Ruby-throats.  {Julian  Burroughs) 

Our  Little  Friend  Downy.  {A.  R.  Dugmore) 
The  Red-headed  Woodpeeker.  {C.  W.  Beebe) 
The  Sapsucker.  {G,  C.  Embody) 

Baby  Fliekers  Just  Out  of  their  Hole.  {A.  R. 
Dugmore)  ...... 


PADS  ‘ 

IS9 


159 

162 

164 

165 

176 

177 

180 

iSi 

181 

192 

193 

19S 

199 


List  of  Illustrations 

FACI 

The  Flicker.  (C.  W.  Beebe) 

Two  Baby  Cuckoos  on  the  Rickety  Bundle  of 
Sticks  that  by  Courtesy  we  Call  a Nest. 
(y erne  Morton)  . - . ^ 

Waiting  for  Mamma  and  Fish,  v {A.  W. 
Anthony), 

Young  Belted  Kingfisher  on  his  Favourite 
Snag.  (A.  W.  Anthony) 

Kingfisher  on  the  Look-out  for  a Dinner. 
{A.  W,  Anthony)  .... 

Turkey  Buzzard:  One  of  Nature’s  Best 
Housecleaners.  {C.  W.  Beebe) 

The  Beautiful  Little  Sparrow  Hawk.  (C.  W. 
Beebe)  ....... 

Father  and  Mother  Barn  Owls.  (Silas  A. 
Lottridge)  ...... 

The  Heavenly  Twins:  Young  Barn  Owls. 
(Silas  A.  Lottridge)  .... 

A Little  Screech  Owl  in  the  Sunlight  Where 
Only  a Photographer  Could  Find  him . 

(C,  W.  Beebe) 

Mrs.  White  on  her  Nest  while  Bob  Whistles 
to  her  from  the  Wild  Strawberry  Patch. 
(A.  R.  Dugmore)  .... 

A Little  Girl’s  Rare  Pet.  (C.  F.  Hodge) 

The  Drummer  Drumming.  (C,  F.  Hodge) 

A Flock  of  Friendly  Sandpipers  and  Turn- 
stones in  Wading.  (Herbert  K.  Job) 


XV 

; PAGE 

206 

207 

210 

210 

2II 

226 

227 

232 

233 

236 

237 

242 

243 

258 


xvi  List  of  Illustrations 

FACING  PACE 

One  Little  Sandpiper.  {R.  H.  Beebe)  . . 259 

The  Coot.  {C.  W.  Beebe)  . . .259 

The  Little  Green  Heron,  the  Smallest  and 
Most  Abundant  Member  of  his  Tribe. 

{W.  P.  Hopkins).  ....  260 

Half-grown  Little  Green  Herons  on  Dress 
Parade.  (John  M.  Schreck)  . . .261 

Black-crowned  Night  Heron  Rising  from  a 
Morass.  {Alfred  J.  Might)  . . , 26S 

Canada  Geese.  {Geo.  D.  Bartlett)  . . 269 

The  Feather-lined  Nest  of  a Wild  Duck.  . 272 

Sea  Gulls  in  the  Wake  of  a Garbage  Scow 
Cleansing  New  York  Harbour  of  Floating 
Refuse  . . . . . . *273 


CHAPTER  I 


OUR  ROBIN  GOODFELLOW  AND 
HIS  RELATIONS: 

American  Robin 
Bluebird 
Wood  Thrush 
Wilson’s  Thrush 


THE  AMERICAN  ROBIN 


Called  also:  Red-breasted  Thrush;  Migratory 
Thrush;  Robin  Redbreast 

TT  IS  only  when  he  is  a baby  that  you 
could  guess  our  robin  is  really  a thrush, 
for  then  the  dark  speckles  on  his  plump  little 
yellowish-white  breast  are  prominent  thrush- 
like markings,  which  gradually  fade,  however, 
as  he  grows  old  enough  to  put  on  a brick-red 
vest  like  his  father’s. 

The  European  Cock  Robin — a bird  as  familiar 
to  you  as  our  own,  no  doubt,  because  it  was  he 
who  was  killed  by  the  Sparrow  with  the  bow 
and  arrow,  you  well  remember,  and  it  was  he 
who  covered  the  poor  Babes  in  the  Wood  with 
leaves — is  much  smaller  than  our  robin,  even 
smaller  than  a sparrow,  and  he  is  not  a thrush 
at  all.  But  this  hero  of  the  story  books  has  a 
red  breast,  and  the  English  colonists,  who  settled 
this  country,  named  our  big,  cheerful,  lusty 
bird  neighbour  a robin,  simply  because  his  red 
breast  reminded  them  of  the  wee  little  bird  at 
home  that  they  had  loved  when  they  were 
children. 

When  our  American  robin  comes  out  of  the 


s 


6 Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

turquoise  blue  egg  that  his  devoted  mother  has 
warmed  into  life,  he  usually  finds  three  or  four 
baby  brothers  and  sisters  huddled  within  the 
grassy  cradle.  In  April,  both  parents  worked 
hard  to  prepare  this  home  for  them.  Having 
brought  coarse  grasses,  roots,  and  a few  leaves 
or  weed  stalks  for  the  foundation,  and  pellets 
of  mud  in  their  bills  for  the  inner  walls  (which 
they  cleverly  managed  to  smooth  into  a bowl 
shape  without  a mason’s  trowel),  and  fine 
grasses  for  the  lining  of  the  nest,  they  saddled 
it  on  to  the  limb  of  an  old  apple  tree.  Robins 
prefer  low-branching  orchard  or  shade  trees 
near  our  homes  to  the  tall,  straight  shafts  of 
the  forest.  Some  have  the  courage  to  build 
among  the  vines  or  under  the  shelter  of  our 
piazzas.  I know  a pair  of  robins  that  reared  a 
brood  in  a little  clipped  bay  tree  in  a tub  next 
to  a front  door,  where  people  passed  in  and  out 
continually.  Doubtless  very  many  birds  would 
be  glad  of  the  shelter  of  our  comfortable  homes 
for  theirs  if  they  could  only  trust  us.  Is  it  not 
a shame  that  they  cannot?  Robins,  especially, 
need  a roof  over  their  heads.  When  they  fool- 
ishly saddle  their  nest  on  to  an  exposed  limb 
of  a tree,  the  first  heavy  rain  is  likely  to  soften 
the  mud  walls,  and  wash  apart  the  heavy,  bulky 
structure,  when 


“Down  tumble  babies  and  cradle  and  all.” 


The  American  Robin 


7 


It  is  wiser  of  them  to  fit  the  nest  into  the 
supporting  crotch  of  a tree,  as  many  do,  and 
wisest  to  choose  the  top  of  a piazza  pillar,  where 
boys  and  girls  and  cats  cannot  climb  to  molest 
them,  nor  storms  dissolve  their  mud-walled 
nursery.  There  are  far  too  many  tragedies-  of 
the  nests  after  every  heavy  spring  rain. 

Suppose  your  appetite  were  so  large  that  you 
were  compelled  to  eat  more  than  your  weight 
of  food  every  day,  and  suppose  you  had  three 
or  four  brothers  and  sisters,  just  your  own  size, 
and  just  as  ravenously  hungry.  These  are  the 
conditions  in  every  normal  robin  family,  so  you 
can  easily  imagine  how  hard  the  father  and 
mother  birds  must  work  to  keep  their  fledglings’ 
crops  filled.  No  wonder  robins  like  to  live  near 
our  homes  where  the  enriched  land  contains 
many  fat  grubs,  and  the  smooth  lawns,  that 
they  run  across  so  lightly,  make  hunting  for 
earth  worms  comparatively  easy.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  about  fourteen  feet  of  worms  (if 
placed  end  to  end)  are  drawn  out  of  the  ground 
daily  by  a pair  of  robins  with  a nestful  of  babies 
to  feed.  When  one  of  the  parents  alights  near 
its  home,  every  child  must  have  seen  the  little 
heads,  with  wide-stretched,  yellov/^  bills,  pop  up 
suddenly  like  Jacks-in-the-box.  How  rudely 
the  greedy  babies  push  and  jostle  one  another 
to  get  the  most  dinner,  and  how  noisily  they 
clamour  for  it!  Earth  worms  are  the  staff  of 


8 Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

life  to  them  just  as  bread  is  to  children,  but 
robins  destroy  vast  quantities  of  other  worms 
and  insects  more  injurious  to  the  farmers’  crops, 
so  that  the  strawberries  and  cherries  they  take 
in  June  should  not  be  grudged  them. 

A man  of  science,  who  devoted  many  hours  of 
study  to  learn  the  great  variety  of  sounds  made 
by  common  barnyard  chickens  in  expressing 
their  entire  range  of  feeling,  from  the  egg  shell 
to  the  axe,  could  entertain  an  audience  de- 
lightfully for  an  evening  by  imitating  them. 
Similar  study  applied  to  robins  would  reveal 
as  surprisingly  rich  results,  but  probably  less 
funny.  No  bird  that  we  have  has  so  varied  a 
repertoire  as  Robin  Goodfellow,  and  I do  not 
believe  that  any  boy  or  girl  alive  could  recognise 
him  by  every  one  of  his  calls  and  songs.  His 
softly  warbled  salute  to  the  sunrise  differs  from 
his  lovely  even-song  just  as  widely  as  the 
rapturous  melody  of  his  courting  days  differs 
from  the  more  subdued,  tranquil  love  song  to 
his  brooding  mate.  Indignation,  suspicion, 
fright,  interrogation,  peace  of  mind,  hate,  cau- 
tion to  take  flight — these  and  a host  of  other 
thoughts,  are  expressed  through  his  flexible 
voice. 

Toward  the  end  of  June,  you  may  see  robins 
flying  in  flocks  after  sun-down.  Old  males  and 
young  birds  of  the  first  brood  scatter  themselves 
over  the  country  by  day  to  pick  up  the  best 


“It  is  only  when  he  is  a baby  that  you  could  guess  our 
robin  is  really  a thrush’' 


Young  bluebirds  taking  their  first  walk 


The  Bluebird 


9 


living  they  can,  but  at  night  they  collect  in 
large  numbers  at  some  favourite  roosting  place. 
Oftentimes  the  weary  mother  birds  are  now 
raising  second  broods.  We  like  to  believe  that 
the  fathers  return  from  the  roosts  at  sun-up 
to  help  supply  those  insatiable  babies  with 
worms  throughout  the  long  day. 

After  family  cares  are  over  for  the  year,  robins 
moult,  and  then  they  hide,  mope,  and  keep  silent 
for  awhile.  But  in  September,  in  a suit  of  new 
feathers,  they  are  feeling  vigorous  and  cheerful 
again;  and,  gathering  in  friendly  flocks,  they 
roam  about  the  woodland  borders  to  feed  on  the 
dogwood,  choke  cherries,  juniper  berries,  and 
other  small  fruits.  You  see  they  change  their 
diet  with  the  season.  By  dropping  the  undi- 
gested berry  seeds  far  and  wide,  they  plant  great 
numbers  of  trees  and  shrubs  as  they  travel. 
Birds  help  to  make  the  earth  beautiful.  With 
them  every  day  is  Arbour  Day. 

It  is  a very  dreary  time  when  the  last  robin 
leaves  us,  and  an  exceptionally  cold  winter 
when  a few  stragglers  from  the  south-bound 
flocks  do  not  remain  in  some  sheltered,  sunny, 
woodland  hollow. 

THE  BLUEBIRD 

Is  there  any  sign  of  spring  quite  so  welcome 
as  the  glint  of  the  first  bluebird  unless  it  is  his 


lo  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

softly  whistled  song?  Before  the  farmer  begins 
to  plough  the  wet  earth,  often  while  the  snow  is 
still  on  the  ground,  this  hardy  little  minstrel  is 
making  himself  very  much  at  home  in  our  or- 
chards and  gardens  while  waiting  for  a mate  to 
arrive  from  the  South. 

Now  is  the  time  to  have  ready  on  top  of  the 
grape  arbour,  or  under  the  eaves  of  the  barn, 
or  nailed  up  in  the  apple  tree,  or  set  up  on  poles, 
the  little  one-roomed  houses  that  bluebirds  are 
only  too  happy  to  occupy.  More  enjoyable 
neighbours  it  would  be  hard  to  find.  Sparrows 
will  fight  for  the  boxes,  it  is  true,  but  if  there 
are  plenty  to  let,  and  the  sparrows  are  per- 
sistently driven  off,  the  bluebirds,  which  are  a 
little  larger  though  far  less  bold,  quickly  take 
possession.  Birds  that  come  earliest  in  the 
season  and  feed  on  insects,  before  they  have 
time  to  multiply,  are  of  far  greater  value  in  the 
field,  orchard,  and  garden  than  birds  that  delay 
their  return  until  warm  weather  has  brought 
forth  countless  swarms  of  insects  far  beyond  the 
control  of  either  bird  or  man.  Many  birds 
would  be  of  even  greater  service  than  they  are 
if  they  received  just  a little  encouragement  to 
make  their  homes  nearer  ours.  They  could 
save  many  more  millions  of  dollars’  worth  of 
crops  for  the  farmers  than  they  do  if  they  were 
properly  protected  while  rearing  their  ever- 
hungry  families.  As  two  or  even  three  broods 


The  Bluebird 


1 1 


of  bluebirds  may  be  raised  in  a box  each  spring, 
and  as  insects  are  their  most  approved  baby 
food,  you  see  how  much  it  is  to  our  interest 
to  set  up  nurseries  for  them  near  our  homes. 

But  when  people  are  not  thoughtful  enough 
to  provide  them  before  the  first  of  March,  the 
bluebirds  hunt  for  a cavity  in  a fence  rail,  or  a 
hole  in  some  old  tree,  preferably  in  the  orchard, 
shortly  after  their  arrival,  and  proceed  to  line  it 
with  grass.  From  three  to  six  pale  blue  eggs  are 
laid.  At  first  the  babies  are  blind,  helpless,  and 
almost  naked.  Then  they  grow  a suit  of  dark 
feathers  with  speckled,  thrush-like  vests  similar 
to  their  cousin’s,  the  baby  robin’s;  and  it  is 
not  until  they  are  able  to  fly  that  the  lovely 
deep  blue  shade  gradually  appears  on  their  gray- 
ish upper  parts.  Then  their  throat,  breast,  and 
sides  turn  rusty  red.  While  creatures  are  help- 
less, a prey  for  any  enemy  to  pounce  upon. 
Nature  does  not  dress  them  conspicuously,  you 
may  be  sure.  Adult  birds,  that  are  able  to  look 
out  for  themselves,  may  be  very  gaily  dressed, 
but  their  children  uiust  wear  sombre  clothes 
until  they  grow  strong  and  wise. 

Young  bluebirds  are  far  less  wild  and  noisy 
than  robins,  but  their  very  sharp  little  claws 
discourage  handling.  These  pointed  hooks  on 
the  ends  of  their  toes  help  them  to  climb  out  of 
the  tree  hollow,  that  is  their  natural  home,  into  the 
big  world  that  their  presence  makes  so  cheerful. 


1 2 Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

As  you  might  expect  of  creatures  so  heavenly 
in  colour,  the  disposition  of  bluebirds  is  partic- 
ularly angelic.  Gentleness  and  amiability  are 
expressed  in  their  soft,  musical  voice.  Tru-al- 
ly,  tru-al-ly,  they  sweetly  assert  when  we 
can  scarcely  believe  that  spring  is  here;  and 
tur-wee,  tur-wee  they  softly  call  in  autumn  when 
they  go  roaming  through  the  country  side  in 
flocks  of  azure,  or  whirl  through  Southern  woods 
to  feed  on  the  waxy  berries  of  the  mistletoe. 


THE  WOOD  THRUSH 

Called  also:  Song  Thrush;  Wood  Robin;  Bell 
Bird 

Much  more  shy  and  reserved  than  the  social, 
democratic  robin  is  his  cousin  the  wood  thrush, 
whom,  perhaps,  you  more  frequently  hear  than 
see.  Not  that  he  is  a recluse,  like  the  hermit 
thrush,  who  hides  his  nest  and  lifts  up  his 
heavenly  voice  in  deep,  cool,  forest  solitudes; 
nor  is  he  even  so  shy  as  Wilson’s  thrush,  who 
prefers  to  live  in  low,  wet,  densely  overgrown 
Northern  woods.  The  wood  thrush,  as  his  name 
implies,  certainly  likes  the  woodland,  but  very 
often  he  chooses  to  stay  close  to  our  country  and 
suburban  homes  or  within  city  parks  with  a more 
than  half-hearted  determination  to  be  friendly. 


BABY  WOOD  THRUSHES 


A wood  tlinisli  startled  by  the  click  of  the  camera 


The  Wood  Thrush 


13 


He  is  about  two  inches  shorter  than  the  robin. 
Above,  his  feathers  are  a rich  cinnamon  brown, 
brightest  on  his  head  and  shoulders  and  shading 
into  olive  brown  on  his  tail.  His  white  throat 
and  breast  and  sides  are  heavily  marked  with 
heart-shaped  marks  of  very  dark  brown.  He 
has  a white  eye  ring. 

"Here  am  I”  come  his  three  clear,  bell-like 
notes  of  self-introduction.  The  quality  of  his 
music  is  delicious,  rich,  penetrative,  pure  and 
vibrating  like  notes  struck  upon  a harp.  If 
you  don’t  already  know  this  most  neighbourly 
of  the  thrushes — as  he  is  also  the  largest  and 
brightest  and  most  heavily  spotted  of  them  all — 
you  will  presently  become  acquainted  with  one 
of  the  finest  songsters  in  America.  Wait  until 
evening  when  he  sings  at  his  best.  Nolee-a-e-o- 
lee-nolee-aeolee-lee!  peals  his  song  from  the  trees. 
Love  alone  inspires  his  finest  strains;  but  even 
in  July,  when  bird  music  is  quite  inferior  to  that 
of  May  and  June,  he  is  still  in  good  voice.  A 
song  so  exquisite  proves  that  the  thrush  comes 
near  to  being  a bird  angel,  very  high  in  the  scale 
of  development,  and  far,  far  beyond  such  low 
creatures  as  ducks  and  chickens. 

Pit-pit-pit  you  may  hear  sharply,  excitedly 
jerked  out  of  some  bird’s  throat,  and  you  wonder 
if  a note  so  disagreeable  can  really  come  from  the 
wonderful  songster  on  the  branch  above  your 
head.  By  sharply  striking  two  small  stones 


14  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

together  you  can  closely  imitate  this  alarm  call. 
Whom  can  he  be  scolding  so  severely?  It  is 
yourself,  of  course,  for  without  knowing  it  you 
have  come  nearer  to  his  low  nest  in  the  beech 
tree  than  he  thinks  quite  safe.  While  sitting, 
the  mother  bird  is,  however,  quite  tame.  A 
photographer  I know  placed  his  camera  within 
four  feet  of  a nest,  changed  the  plates,  and 
clicked  the  shutter  three  times  for  as  many 
pictures  without  disturbing  the  gentle  sitter  who 
merely  winked  her  eye  at  each  chick. 

Wood  thrushes  seem  to  delight  in  weaving 
bits  of  paper  or  rags  into  their  deep  cradles 
which  otherwise  resemble  the  robins.’  A nest 
in  the  shrubbery  near  a bird-lover’s  home  in 
New  Jersey  had  many  bits  of  newspaper  at- 
tached to  its  outer  walls,  but  the  most  con- 
spicuous strip  in  front  advertised  in  large  letters 
“A  House  to  be  Let  or  Sold.”  The  original 
builders  happily  took  the  next  lease,  and  another 
lot  of  nervous,  fidgety  baby  tenants  came  out  of 
four  light  greenish-blue  eggs;  but,  as  usual, 
they  moved  away  to  the  woods,  aften  ten  days, 
to  join  the  choir  invisible. 


WILSON’S  THRUSH 


The  veery,  as  the  Wilson’s  thrush  is  called 
in  New  England,  is  far  more  common  there  than 


Wilson's  Thrush 


15 


the  wood  thrush,  whose  range  is  more  southerly. 
During  its  spring  and  fall  migrations  only  is  it 
at  all  common  about  the  elms  and  maples  that 
men  have  planted.  Take  a good  look  at  its 
tawny  coat  and  lightly  spotted,  cream  buff 
breast  before  it  goes  away  to  hide.  Like 
Kipling’s  “cat  that  walked  by  himself,”  the 
veery  prefers  the  “ wild,  wet  woods,  ” and  there 
its  ringing,  weird,  whistling  monotone,  that  is  so 
melodious  without  being  a melody,  seems  to 
come  from  you  can’t  guess  where.  The  singer 
keeps  hidden  in  the  dense,  dark  undergrowth. 
It  is  as  if  two  voices,  an  alto  and  a soprano,  were 
singing  at  the  same  time;  Whee-you,  whee-you : 
— the  familiar  notes  might  come  from  a scythe 
being  sharpened  on  a whetstone,  were  the  sound 
less  musical  than  it  is.  The  bird  is  too  wise  to 
sing  very  near  its  well-hidden  nest,  which  is 
placed  either  directly  on  the  damp  ground  or 
not  far  above  it,,  and  usually  near  water. 
Throughout  its  life  the  veery  seems  to  show  a 
distrust  of  us  that,  try  as  we  may,  few  have 
ever  overcome. 

If  you  have  thought  that  the  thrush-like,  cin- 
namon brown,  speckle-breasted  bird,  with  a long 
twitching  tail  like  a catbird’s,  and  a song  as  fine 
as  a catbird’s  best,  would  be  mentioned  among 
the  robin’s  relations,  you  must  guess  again,  for 
he  is  the  brown  thrasher,  not  a thrush  at  aU. 
You  will  find  him  in  the  Group  of  Lively  Singers. 


CHAPTER  II 


SOME 

NEIGHBOURLY  ACROBATS 

Chickadee 

Tufted  Titmouse 

White-breasted  Nuthatch 
Red-breasted  Nuthatch 

Ruby-crowned  Kinglet 
Golden-crowned  Kinglet 

THE  CHICKADEE 


Called  also:  Black-capped  Titmouse 

tjittERLY  cold  and  dreary  though  the  day 
^ may  be,  that  “little  scrap  of  valour,”  the 
chickadee,  keeps  his  spirits  high  until  ours  can- 
not but  be  cheered  by  the  oft-repeated,  clear, 
tinkling  silvery  notes  that  spell  his  name. 
Chicka-dee-dee : chicka-dee-dee : he  introduces 
himself.  How  easy  it  would  be  for  every  child 
to  know  the  birds  if  all  would  but  sing  out 
their  names  so  clearly!  Oh,  don’t  you  wish  they 
would? 


Piped  a tiny  voice  near  by 
Gay  and  polite— a cheerful  cry— 
Chick-chickadeedee ! Saucy  note 
Out  of  sound  heart  and  merry  throat, 
As  if  it  said,  ‘ Good  day,  good  Sir  I 
Fine  afternoon,  old  passenger! 

Happy  to  meet  you  in  these  places 
Where  January  brings  few  faces.’  ” 


No  bird,  except  the  wren,  is  more  cheerful  than 
the  chickadee,  and  his  cheerfulness,  fortunately, 
is  just  as  “catching”  as  measels.  None  will 
respond  more  promptly  to  your  whistle  in  imi- 
tation of  his  three  very  high,  clear  call  notes,  and 
come  nearer  and  nearer  to  make  quite  sure  you 

19 


20  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

are  only  a harmless  mimic.  He  is  very  inquis- 
itive. Although  not  a bird  may  be  in  sight 
when  you  first  whistle  his  call,  nine  chances  out 
of  ten  there  will  be  a faint  echo  from  some  far 
distant  throat  before  very  long ; and  by  repeat- 
ing the  notes  at  short  intervals  you  will  have, 
probably,  not  one  but  several  echoes  from  as 
many  different  chickadees  whose  curiosity  to 
see  you  soon  gets  the  better  of  their  appetites 
and  brings  them  flying,  by  easy  stages,  to  the 
tree  above  your  head.  Where  there  is  one 
chickadee  there  are  apt  to  be  more  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood; for  these  sociable,  active,  cheerful 
little  black-capped  fellows  in  gray  like  to  hunt 
for  their  living  in  loose  scattered  flocks  through- 
out the  fall  and  winter.  When  they  come  near 
enough,  notice  the  pale  rusty  wash  on  the  sides 
of  their  under  parts  which  are  more  truly  dirty 
white  than  gray.  Chickadees  are  wonderfully 
tame:  except  the  chipping  sparrow,  perhaps 
the  tamest  birds  that  we  have.  Patient  people, 
who  know  how  to  whistle  up  these  friendly 
sprites,  can  sometimes  draw  them  close  enough 
to  touch,  and  an  elect  few,  who  have  the  special 
gift  of  winning  a wild  bird’s  confidence,  can  in- 
duce the  chickadee  to  alight  upon  their  hands. 

Blessed  with  a thick  coat  of  fat  under  his  soft, 
fluffy  gray  feathers,  a hardy  constitution  and  a 
sunny  disposition,  what  terrors  has  the  winter 
for  him?  When  the  thermometer  goes  down, 


The  Chickadee 


21 


his  spirits  seem  to  go  up  the  higher.  Dangling 
like  a circus  acrobat  on  the  cone  of  some  tall 
pine  tree;  standing  on  an  outstretched  twig, 
then  turning  over  and  hanging  with  his  black- 
capped  head  downward  from  the  high  trapeze; 
carefully  inspecting  the  rough  bark  on  the  twigs 
for  a fat  grub  or  a nest  of  insect  eggs,  he  is  con- 
stantly hunting  for  food  and  singing  grace  be- 
tween bites.  His  day,  day,  day,  sung  softly 
over  and  over  again,  seems  to  be  his  equivalent 
for  “ Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.” 

How  delightfully  he  and  his  busy  friends,  who 
are  always  within  call,  punctuate  the  snow- 
muffled,  mid-winter  silence  with  their  ringing 
calls  of  good  cheer!  The  orchards  where  chicka- 
dees, titmice,  nuthatches,  and  kinglets  have 
dined  all  winter,  will  contain  few  worm-eaten 
apples  next  season.  Here  is  a puzzle  for  your 
arithmetic  class:  If  one  chickadee  eats  four 
hundred  and  forty-four  eggs  of  the  apple  tree 
moth  on  Monday,  three  hundred  and  thirty- 
three  eggs  of  the  canker  worm  on  Tuesday,  and 
seven  hundred  and  seventy-seven  miscellaneous 
grubs,  larvae,  and  insect  eggs  on  Wednesday  and 
Thursday,  how  long  will  it  take  a flock  of 
twenty-two  chickadees  to  rid  an  orchard  of 
every  unspeakable  pest?  One  very  wise  and 
thrifty  fruit  grower  I know  attracts  to  his  trees 
all  the  winter  birds  from  far  and  near,  by  keep- 
ing on  several  shelves  nailed  up  in  his  orchard. 


22  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

bits  of  suet,  cheap  raisins,  raw  peanuts  chopped 
fine,  cracked  hickory  nuts  and  rinds  of  pork. 
The  free  lunch  counters  are  freely  patronised. 
There  is  scarcely  an  hour  in  the  day,  no  matter 
how  cold,  when  some  hungry  feathered  neigh- 
bour may  not  be  seen  helping  himself  to  the 
heating,  fattening  food  he  needs  to  keep  his 
blood  warm. 

At  the  approach  of  warm  weather,  chickadees 
retreat  from  public  gaze  to  become  temporary 
recluses  in  damp,  deep  woods  or  woodland 
swamps  where  insects  are  most  plentiful.  For 
a few  months  they  give  up  their  friendly  flock- 
ing ways  and  live  in  pairs.  Long  journeys 
they  do  not  undertake  from  the  North  when  it 
is  time  to  nest ; but  Southern  birds  move  north- 
ward in  the  spring.  Happily  the  chickadee  may 
find  a woodpecker’s  vacant  hole  in  some  hollow 
tree;  worse  luck  if  a new  excavation  must  be 
made  in  a decayed  birch — the  favourite  nursery. 
Wool  from  the  sheep  pasture,  felt  from  fern 
fronds,  bits  of  bark,  moss,  hair,  and  the  fur  of 
“little  beasts  of  field  and  wood” — anything 
soft  that  may  be  picked  up  goes  to  line  the  hol- 
low cradle  in  the  tree-tpunk.  How  the  crowded 
chickadee  babies  must  swelter  in  their  bed  of 
fur  and  feathers  tucked  inside  a close,  stuffy  hole ! 
Is  it  not  strange  that  such  hardy  parents  should 
coddle  their  children  so? 


The  chickadee  at  her  front  door 


Young*  nuthatches  learning  their  first  lesson  in  balancing  on  a horizontal  bar 


Tufted  Titmouse 


23 


TUFTED  TITMOUSE 

Called  also:  Peto  Bird;  Crested  Tomtit;  Crested 
T itmouse 

Don’t  expect  to  meet  the  tufted  titmouse 
if  you  live  very  far  north  of  Washington.  He 
is  common  only  in  the  South  and  West. 

This  pert  and  lively  cousin  of  the  lovable 
little  chickadee  is  not  quite  so  friendly  and  far 
more  noisy.  Peto-peto-peto  comes  his  loud,  clear 
whistle  from  the  woods  and  clearings  where  he 
and  his  large  family  are  roving  restlessly  about 
all  through  the  autumn  and  winter.  A famous 
musician  became  insane  because  he  heard  one 
note  ringing  constantly  in  his  overwrought 
brain.  If  you  ever  hear  a troupe  of  titmice 
whistling  Peto  over  and  over  again  for  hours  at 
a time,  you  will  pity  poor  Schumann  and  fear 
a similar  fate  for  the  birds.  But  they  seem  to 
delight  in  the  two  tiresome  notes,  uttered  some- 
times in  one  key,  sometimes  in  another.  Another 
call — day-day-day — reminds  you  of  the  chick- 
adee’s, only  the  tufted  titmouse’s  voice  is  louder 
and  a little  hoarse,  as  it  well  might  be  from 
such  constant  use. 

Few  birds  that  we  see  about  our  homes  wear 
a top  knot  on  their  heads.  The  big  cardinal 
has  a handsome  red  one,  the  larger  blue  jay’s 
is  bluish  gray,  the  cedar  waxwing’s  is  a Quaker 


24  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

drab ; but  the  little  titmouse,  who  is  the  size  of 
an  English  sparrow,  may  be  named  at  once  by 
the  gray  pointed  crest  that  makes  him  look  so 
pert  and  jaunty.  When  he  hangs  head  down- 
ward from  the  trapeze  on  the  oak  tree,  this 
little  gray  acrobat’s  peaked  cap  seems  to  be 
falling  off;  whereas  the  black  skull  cap  on  the 
smaller  chickadee  fits  close  to  his  head  no 
matter  how  much  he  turns  over  the  bar  and 
dangles. 

Neither  one  of  these  cousins  is  a carpenter 
like  the  woodpecker.  The  titmouse  has  a short, 
stout  bill  without  a chisel  on  it,  which  is  why 
it  cannot  chip  out  a hole  for  a nest  in  a tree 
trunk  or  old  stump  imless  the  wood  is  much 
decayed.  You  see  why  these  birds  are  so 
pleased  to  find  a deserted  woodpecker’s  hole. 
Not  alone  are  they  saved  the  trouble  of  making 
one,  but  a deep  tunnel  in  a tree-trunk  means 
security  for  their  babies  against  hawks,  crows, 
jays,  and  other  foes,  as  well  as  against  wind  and 
rain. 

When  you  find  a flock  of  either  chickadees 
or  titmice,  you  may  be  sure  it  is  made  up  chiefly, 
if  not  entirely,  of  the  birds  of  one  or  two  broods 
of  the  same  parents.  Their  families  are  usually 
large  and  the  members  devoted  to  one  another. 
Titmice  nest  in  April  so  that  you  cannot  tell  the 
brothers  and  sisters  from  the  father  and  mother 
when  the  troupe  of  acrobats  leave  the  woods  in 


White-breasted  Nuthatch 


25 


early  autumn  and  whistle  lustily  about  your 
home. 


WHITE-BREASTED  NUTHATCH 

Called  also:  Tree  Mouse;  Devil  Downhead 

When  it  comes  to  acrobatic  performances  in 
the  trees,  neither  the  chickadee  nor  the  tit- 
mouse can  rival  their  relatives,  the  little  bluish 
gray  nuthatches.  Indeed,  any  circus  might 
be  glad  to  secure  their  expert  services.  Hang- 
ing fearlessly  from  the  topmost  branches  of  the 
tallest  pine,  running  along  the  under  side  of 
horizontal  limbs  as  comfortably  as  along  the 
top  of  them,  or  descending  the  trunk  head  fore- 
most, these  wonderful  little  gymnasts  keep  their 
nerves  as  cool  as  the  thermometer  in  January. 
From  the  way  they  travel  over  any  part  of  the 
tree  they  wish,  from  top  and  tip  to  the  bottom 
of  it,  no  wonder  they  are  sometimes  called  Tree 
Mice.  Only  the  fly  that  walks  across  the 
ceiling,  however,  can  compete  with  them  in 
clinging  to  the  under  side  of  boughs. 

Why  don’t  they  fall  off?  If  you  ever  have  a 
chance,  examine  their  claws.  These,  you  will 
see,  are  very  much  curved  and  have  sharp  little 
hooks  that  catch  in  any  crack  or  rough  place  in 
the  bark  and  easily  support  the  bird’s  weight. 
As  a general  rule  the  chickadee  keeps  to  the 


26  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

end  of  the  twigs  and  the  smaller  branches ; the 
tufted  titmouse  rids  the  larger  boughs  of  in- 
sects, eggs,  and  worms  hidden  in  the  scaly  bark ; 
but  the  nuthatches  can  climb  to  more  inac- 
cessible places.  With  the  help  of  the  hooks 
on  their  toes  it  does  not  matter  to  them  whether 
they  run  upward,  downward,  or  sidewise;  and 
they  can  stretch  their  bodies  av/ay  from  their 
feet  at  some  very  queer  angles.  Their  long  bills 
penetrate  into  deep  holes  in  the  thick  bark  of 
the  tree  trunks  and  older  limbs  and  bring  forth 
from  their  hiding  places  insects  that  would 
escape  almost  every  other  bird  except  the 
brown  creeper  and  the  woodpecker.  Of  course, 
when  you  see  any  feathered  acrobat  performing 
in  the  trees,  you  know  he  is  working  hard  to 
pick  up  a dinner,  not  exercising  merely  for  fun. 

The  most  familiar  nuthatch,  in  the  eastern 
United  States,  is  the  one  with  the  white  breast; 
but  in  the  Northern  States  and  Canada  there  is 
another  common  winter  neighbour,  a smaller 
compactly  feathered,  bluish  gray  gymnast  with 
a pale  rusty  breast,  a conspicuous  black  line 
running  apparently  through  his  eye  from  the 
base  of  his  bill  to  the  nape  of  his  neck,  and  heavy 
white  eyebrows.  This  is  the  hardy  Httle  red- 
breasted nuthatch.  His  voice  is  pitched  rather 
high  and  his  drawling  notes  seem  to  come  from 
a lazy  bird  instead  of  one  of  the  most  vigorous 
and  spry  little  creatures  in  the  wood.  The 


White-breasted  Nuthatch 


27 


nasal  ank-ank  of  his  white-breasted  cousin  is 
uttered,  too,  without  expression,  as  if  the  bird 
were  compelled  to  make  a sound  once  in  a while 
against  his  will.  Both  of  these  cousins  have 
similar  habits.  Both  are  a trifle  smaller  than 
the  English  sparrow.  In  summer  they  merely 
hide  away  in  the  woods  to  nest,  for  they  are  not 
migrants.  It  is  only  when  nesting  duties  are 
over  in  the  autumn  that  they  become  neigh- 
bourly. 

Who  gave  them  their  queer  name?  A hat- 
chet would  be  a rather  clumsy  tool  for  us  to  use 
in  opening  a nut,  but  these  birds  have  a con- 
venient, ever-ready  one  in  their  long,  stout, 
sharply  pointed  bills  with  which  they  hack  apart 
the  small  thin-shelled  nuts  like  beech  nuts  and 
hazel  nuts,  chinquapins  and  chestnuts,  kernels 
of  com  and  sunflower  seeds.  These  they  wedge 
into  cracks  in  the  bark  just  big  enough  to  hold 
them.  During  the  summer  and  early  autumn 
when  insects  are  plentiful,  the  nuthatches  eat 
little  else;  and  then  they  thriftily  store  away 
the  other  items  on  their  bill  of  fare,  squirrel 
fashion,  so  that  when  frost  kills  the  insects,  they 
may  vary  their  diet  of  insect  eggs  and  grubs 
with  nuts  and  the  larger  grain.  Flying  to  the 
spot  where  a nut  has  been  securely  wedged, 
perhaps  weeks  before,  the  bird  scores  and  hacks 
and  pecks  it  open  with  his  sharp  little  hatchet, 
whose  hard  blows  may  be  heard  far  away. 


28  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Although  this  tool  is  a great  help  to  the  nut- 
hatches in  making  their  nests,  they  appear  to  be 
quite  as  ready  to  accept  a deserted  woodpecker’s 
hole  as  the  chickadee  with  a smaller  bill.  A 
natural  cavity  will  answer,  or,  if  they  must, 
they  will  make  one  in  some  forest  tree.  The 
red-breasted  nuthatches  have  a curious  habit 
of  smearing  the  entrance  to  the  hole  with  fir- 
balsam  or  pitch.  Why  do  you  suppose  they  do 
it?  Perhaps  they  think  this  will  discourage  egg 
suckers,  like  snakes,  mice,  or  squirrels;  but, 
in  effect,  the  sticky  gum  often  pulls  the  feathers 
from  their  own  breasts  as  they  go  in  and  out 
attending  to  the  wants  of  their  family. 


RUBY-CROWNED  KINGLET 

Count  that  a red-letter  day  on  your  calendar 
when  first  you  see  either  this  tiny,  dainty  sprite, 
or  his  next  of  kin,  the  golden-crowned  kinglet, 
fluttering,  twinkling  about  the  evergreens.  In 
republican  America  we  don’t  often  have  the 
chance  to  meet  two  crowned  heads.  Ener- 
getic as  wrens,  restless  as  warblers,  and  as  per- 
petually looking  for  insect  food,  the  kinglets  flit 
with  a sudden,  jerking  motion  from  twig  to 
twig  among  the  trees  and  bushes,  now  on  the 
lawn,  now  in  the  orchard  and  presently  in  the 
hedgerow  down  the  lane.  They  have  a pretty 


Ruby-crowned  Kinglet 


29 


trick  of  lifting  and  flitting  their  wings  every 
little  while.  The  bluebird  and  pine  grosbeak 
have  it  too,  but  their  much  larger,  trembling 
wings  seem  far  less  nervous. 

Happily  the  kinglets  are  not  at  all  shy;  no 
bird  is  that  is  hatched  out  so  far  north  that  it 
never  sees  a human  being  until  it  travels  south- 
ward to  spend  the  winter.  Alas!  It  is  the  birds 
that  know  us  too  well  that  are  often  the  most 
afraid.  When  the  leaves  are  turning  crimson 
and  russet  and  gold  in  the  autumn,  keep  a sharp 
look  out  for  the  plump  little  grayish,  olive  green 
birds  that  are  even  smaller  than  wrens,  and  not 
very  much  larger  than  hummingbirds.  Al- 
though members  of  quite  a different  family — the 
kinglets  are  exclusive — they  condescend  to  join 
the  nuthatches  and  chickadees  in  the  orchard 
to  help  clean  the  farmer’s  fruit  trees  or  pick  up 
a morsel  at  the  free  lunch  counter  in  zero 
weather.  Love  or  war  is  necessary  to  make  the 
king  show  us  his  crown.  But  vanity  or  anger 
is  sufficient  excuse  for  lifting  the  dark  feathers 
that  nearly  conceal  the  beauty  spot  on  the  top 
of  his  head  when  the  midget’s  mind  is  at  ease. 
If  you  approach  very  near — and  he  will  allow 
you  to  almost  touch  him — you  may  see  the 
little  patch  of  brilliant  red  feathers,  it  is  true, 
but  you  will  probably  get  an  unexpected, 
chattering  scolding  from  the  little  king  as  he 
flies  away. 


30  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

In  the  spring  his  love  song  is  as  surprisingly 
strong  in  proportion  to  his  size  as  the  wren’s. 
It  seems  impossible  for  such  a volume  of  mellow 
flute-like  melody  to  pour  from  a throat  so  tiny. 
Before  we  have  a chance  to  hear  it  again  the 
singer  is  off  with  his  tiny  queen  to  nest  in  some 
spruce  tree  beyond  the  Canadian  border. 


The  noisy  contents  of  a soap  box : a family  of  house  wrens 


The  marsh  wren’s  round  cradle  swung  among  the  rushes 


CHAPTER  III 


A GROUP  OF  LIVELY  SINGERS 

House  Wren 
Carolina  Wren 
Marsh  Wren 
Brown  Thrasher 
Catbird 
Mockingbird 


THE  HOUSE  WREN 


TF  YOU  want  some  jolly  little  neighbours  for 
the  summer,  invite  the  wrens  to  live  near  you 
year  after  year  by  putting  up  small,  one-family 
box-houses  under  the  eaves  of  the  barn,  the 
cow-shed,  or  the  chicken-house,  on  the  grape 
arbour  or  in  the  orchard.  Beware  of  a pair  of 
nesting  wrens  in  a box  nailed  against  a piazza 
post:  they  beat  any  alarm  clock  for  arousing 
the  family  at  sunrise. 

Save  the  starch  boxes,  cover  them  with 
strips  of  bark,  or  give  them  two  coats  of  paint 
to  match  the  building  they  are  to  be  nailed  on. 
Cut  a hole  that  you  have  marked  on  one  end  of 
each  box  by  drawing  a lead  pencil  around  a 
silver  quarter  of  a dollar.  A larger  hole  would 
mean  that  English  sparrows,  who  push  them- 
selves everywhere  where  not  invited,  would 
probably  take  possession  of  each  house  as  fast 
as  you  nailed  it  up.  Of  course  the  little  one- 
roomed  cottages  should  have  a number  of  small 
holes  bored  on  the  sides  near  the  top  to  give  the 
wrens  plenty  of  fresh  air.  Have  the  boxes  in 
place  not  later  than  the  first  of  April — then 
watch.  Would  it  not  be  a pity  for  any  would-be 
tenants  to  pass  by  your  home  because  they  could 

33 


34  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

not  find  a house  to  let?  Wrens  really  prefer 
boxes  to  the  holes  in  stumps  and  trees  they 
used  to  occupy  before  there  were  any  white 
people  with  thoughtful  children  on  this  con- 
tinent. But  the  little  tots  have  been  known  to 
build  in  tin  cans,  coat  pockets,  old  shoes,  mit- 
tens, hats,  glass  jars,  and  even  inside  a human 
skull  that  a medical  student  hung  out  in  the 
sun  to  bleach ! 

When  you  are  sound  asleep  some  April  morn- 
ing, a tiny  brown  bird,  just  returned  from  a long 
visit  south  of  the  Carolinas,  will  probably  alight 
on  the  perch  in  front  of  one  of  your  boxes,  peep 
in  the  doorhole,  enter — although  his  pert 
little  cocked-up-tail  has  to  be  lowered  to  let 
him  through — look  about  with  approval,  go 
out,  spring  to  the  roof  and  pour  out  of  his 
wee  throat  a gushing  torrent  of  music.  The 
song  seems  to  bubble  up  faster  than  he  can 
sing.  “Foive  notes  to  wanst”  was  an  Irish- 
man’s description  of  it.  After  the  wren’s 
happy  discovery  of  a place  to  live,  his  song  will 
go  off  in  a series  of  musical  explosions  all  day 
long,  now  from  the  roof,  now  from  the  clothes- 
posts,  the  fence,  the  barn,  or  the  wood-pile. 
There  never  was  a more  tireless,  spirited,  bril- 
liant singer.  From  the  intensity  of  his  feelings, 
he  sometimes  droops  that  expressive  little  tail 
of  his,  which  is  usually  so  erect  and  saucy. 

With  characteristic  energy,  he  frequently 


Like  “Brer  Rabbit”  the  catbird  is  usually  “bred  en  bawn  in  a brier  patch 


Another  tragedy  of  the  nests : what  villain  ate  the  catbird’s  eggs  ? 


The  House  Wren 


35 


begins  to  carry  twigs  into  the  house  before  he 
finds  a mate.  The  day  little  Jenny  Wren 
appears  on  the  scene,  how  he  does  sing!  Dash- 
ing off  for  more  twigs,  but  stopping  to  sing  to 
her  every  other  minute,  he  helps  furnish  the 
cottage  quickly,  but,  of  course,  he  overdoes — 
he  carries  in  more  twigs  and  hay  and  feathers 
than  the  little  house  can  hold,  then  pulls  half 
of  them  out  again.  Jenny  gathers  too,  for  she 
is  a bustling  housewife  and  arranges  matters 
with  neatness  and  despatch.  Neither  vermin 
nor  dirt  will  she  tolerate  within  her  well-kept 
home.  Everything  she  does  to  suit  herself 
pleases  her  ardent  little  lover.  He  applauds 
her  with  song;  he  flies  about  after  her  with  a 
nervous  desire  to  protect ; he  seems  beside  him- 
self with  happiness.  Let  any  one  pass  too  near 
his  best  beloved,  and  he  begins  to  chatter  ex- 
citedly: '' Chit-chit-chit-chit”  as  much  as  to 
say,  “Oh,  do  go  away;  go  quickly!  Can’t  you 
see  how  nervous  and  fidgety  you  make  me?  ” 

If  you  fancy  that  Jenny  Wren,  who  is 
patiently  sitting  on  the  little  pinkish  chocolate 
spotted  eggs  in  the  centre  of  her  feather  bed, 
is  a demure,  angelic  creature,  you  have  never 
seen  her  attack  the  sparrow,  nearly  twice  her 
size,  that  dares  put  his  impudent  head  inside 
her  door.  Oh,  how  she  flies  at  him!  How  she 
chatters  and  scolds!  What  a plucky  little  shrew 
she  is,  after  all!  Her  piercing,  chattering,  scold- 


36  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 


ing  notes  are  fairly  hissed  into  his  ears  until  he 
is  thankful  enough  to  escape. 

THE  LITTLE  BROWN  WREN* 

There’s  a little  brown  wren  that  has  built  in  our  tree, 

And  she’s  scarcely  as  big  as  a big  bumble-bee; 

She  has  hollowed  a house  in  the  heart  of  a limb, 

And  made  the  walls  tidy  and  made  the  floors  trim 
With  the  down  of  the  crow’s  foot,  with  tow,  and  with  straw 
The  cosiest  dwelling  that  ever  you  saw. 

This  little  brown  wren  has  the  brightest  of  eyes 
And  a foot  of  a very  diminutive  size. 

Her  tail  is  as  trig  as  the  sail  of  a ship. 

She’s  demure,  though  she  walks  with  a hop  and  a skip; 
And  her  voice — but  a flute  were  more  fit  than  a pen 
To  tell  of  the  voice  of  the  little  brown  wren. 

One  morning  Sir  Sparrow  came  sauntering  by 
And  cast  on  the  wren’s  house  an  envious  eye; 

With  a strut  of  bravado  and  toss  of  his  head, 

“I’ll  put  in  my  claim  here,”  the  bold  fellow  said; 

So  straightway  he  mounted  on  impudent  wing. 

And  entered  the  door  without  pausing  to  ring. 

An  instant — and  swiftly  that  feathery  knight 
All  towsled  and  tumbled,  in  terror  took  flight. 

While  there  by  the  door  on  her  favourite  perch, 

As  neat  as  a lady  just  starting  for  church. 

With  this  song  on  her  lips,  “He  will  not  call  again 
Unless  he  is  asked,”  sat  the  little  brown  wren. 


If  the  bluebirds  had  her  courage  and  hot, 
quick  temper,  they  would  never  let  the  sparrows 
drive  them  away  from  their  boxes.  Unfor- 
tunately a hole  large  enough  to  admit  a blue- 

♦From  “Boy’s  Book  of  PJiyme,”  by  Clinton  Scollard 


The  Carolina  Wren 


37 


bird  will  easily  admit  those  grasping  monop- 
olists; but  Jenny  Wren  is  safe,  if  she  did  but 
know  it,  in  her  house  with  its  tiny  front  door 
It  is  amusing  to  see  a sparrow  try  to  work  his 
shoulders  through  the  small  hole  of  an  empty 
wren  house,  pushing  and  kicking  madly,  but 
all  in  vain. 

What  rent  do  the  wrens  pay  for  their  little 
houses?  No  man  is  clever  enough  to  estimate 
the  vast  numbers  of  insects  on  your  place  that 
they  destroy.  They  eat  nothing  else,  which  is 
the  chief  reason  why  they  are  so  lively  and 
excitable.  Unable  to  soar  after  flying  insects 
because  of  their  short,  round  wings,  they  keep, 
as  a rule,  rather  close  to  the  ground  which  their 
finely  barred  brown  feathers  so  closely  match. 
Whether  hunting  for  grubs  in  the  wood-pile, 
scrambling  over  the  brush  heap  after  spiders, 
searching  among  the  trees  to  provide  a dinner 
for  their  large  families,  or  creeping,  like  little 
feathered  mice,  in  queer  nooks  and  crannies 
among  the  outbuildings  on  the  farm,  they  are 
always  busy  in  your  interest  which  is  also  theirs. 
It  certainly  pays,  in  every  sense,  to  encourage 
wrens. 


THE  CAROLINA  WREN 

The  house  wrens  have  a tiny  cousin,  a mite  of 
a bird,  called  the  winter  wren,  that  is  so  shy 


38  Birds  Every  Ch'dd  Should  Know 

and  retiring  you  will  probably  never  become 
well  acquainted  with  it.  It  delights  in  mossy, 
rocky  woods  near  running  water.  But  a larger 
chestnut  brown  cousin,  the  Carolina  wren,  with 
a prominent  white  eyebrow,  a bird  which  is  quite 
common  in  the  Middle  and  Southern  States, 
sometimes  nests  in  outbuildings  and  in  all  sorts 
of  places  about  the  farm.  However,  he  too 
really  prefers  the  forest  undergrowths  near 
water,  fallen  logs,  half  decayed  stumps,  and 
mossy  rocks  where  insects  lurk  but  cannot  hide 
from  his  sharp,  peering  eyes.  Now  here,  now 
there,  appearing  and  disappearing,  never  at 
rest,  even  his  expressive  tail  being  in  constant 
motion,  he  seems  more  nervously  active  than 
Jenny  Wren’s  fidgety  husband. 

Some  people  call  him  the  mocking  wren, 
but  I think  he  never  deliberately  tries  to  imitate 
other  birds.  Why  should  he?  It  is  true  that 
his  loud-ringing,  three-syllabled  whistle,  "Tea 
ket-tle,  Tea-ket-tle,  Tea-ket-tle,”  suggests  the 
crested  titmouse’s  " peto”  of  two  syllables,  but 
in  quality  only ; and  some  have  thought  that  his 
whistled  notes  are  difficult  to  distinguish  from 
the  one-syllabled,  but  oft-repeated,  long-drawn 
qiioit  of  the  cardinal.  These  three  birds  are 
frequently  to  be  heard  in  the  same  neighbour- 
hood and  you  may  easily  compare  their  voices ; 
but  if  you  listen  carefully,  I think  you  will  not 
accuse  the  wren  of  trying  to  mock  either  of  the 


The  Marsh  Wren 


39 


others.  In  addition  to  his  ringing,  whistled 
notes,  he  can  make  other  sounds  peculiarly  his 
own:  trills  and  quavers,  scolding  cacks,  rat- 
tling kringggs,  something  like  the  tree  toad’s,  be- 
sides the  joyful,  lyrical  melody  that  has  given 
him  his  reputation  as  a musician.  Even  these  do 
not  complete  his  repertoire.  To  deliver  his  fam- 
ous song,  he  chooses  a conspicuous  position  in 
the  top  of  some  bush  or  low  tree;  then,  with 
head  uplifted  and  tail  drooping — a favourite 
posture  of  all  these  lively  singers — he  makes 
us  very  glad  indeed  that  we  heard  him.  Hap- 
pily he  sings  almost  as  many  months  in  the 
year  as  the  most  cheerful  bird  we  have,  the 
song  sparrow. 


THE  MARSH  WREN 

Hidden  among  the  tall  grasses  and  reeds  along 
the  creeks  and  rivers,  lives  the  long-billed  marsh 
wren,  a nervous,  active  little  creature  that  you 
know  at  a glance.  With  tail  cocked  up  and 
even  tilted  forward  toward  her  head  in  the  ex- 
treme of  wren  fashion,  or  suddenly  jerked 
downward  to  help  keep  her  balance,  she  sways 
with  the  grass  as  it  blows  in  the  wind — a.  dainty 
little  sprite.  With  no  desire  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  she  flies  with  a short,  jerky  motion 
(because  of  her  short  wings)  a few  rods  away. 


40  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

then  drops  into  the  grasses  which  engulf  her  as 
surely  as  if  she  had  dropped  into  the  sea.  You 
may  search  in  vain  to  find  her  now.  Like  the 
rails,  she  has  her  paths  and  runways  among  the 
tall  sedges  and  cat-tails,  where  not  even  a boy 
in  rubber  boots  may  safely  follow. 

But  she  does  not  live  alone.  Withdraw,  sit 
down  quietly  for  awhile  and  wait  for  the  ex- 
citement of  your  visit  to  subside;  for  every 
member  of  the  wren  colony,  peering  sharply  at 
you  through  the  grasses,  was  watching  you 
long  before  you  saw  the  first  wren.  Presently 
you  hear  a rippling,  bubbling  song  from  one  of 
her  neighbours ; then  another  and  another  and 
still  another  from  among  the  cat-tails  which, 
you  now  suspect,  conceal  many  musicians. 
The  song  goes  off  like  a small  explosion  of  mel- 
ody whose  force  often  carries  the  tiny  singer  up 
into  the  air.  One  explosion  follows  another, 
and  between  them  there  is  much  wren  talk — a. 
scolding  chatter  that  is  as  great  a relief  to  the 
birds’  nervous  energy  as  the  exhaust  from  its 
safety  valve  is  to  a steam  engine.  The  rising 
of  a red-winged  blackbird  from  his  home  in  the 
sedges,  the  rattle  of  the  kingfisher  on  Ifis  way 
up  the  creek,  or  the  leisurely  flapping  of  a 
bittern  over  the  marshes  is  enough  to  start  the 
chattering  chorus. 

Why  are  the  birds  so  excited?  This  is  their 
nesting  season.  May,  and  really  they  are  too 


The  Brown  Thrasher 


41 


busy  to  be  bothered  by  visitors.  Most  birds 
are  content  to  make  one  nest  a year  but  not 
these,  who,  in  their  excess  of  wren  energy,  keep 
on  building  nest  after  nest  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
one  preferred  for  their  chocolate  brown  eggs. 
Bending  down  the  tips  of  the  rushes  they  some- 
how manage  to  weave  them,  with  the  weeds  and 
grasses  they  bring,  into  a bulky  ball  suspended 
between  the  rushes  and  firmly  attached  to 
them.  In  one  side  of  this  green  grassy  globe 
they  leave  an  entrance  through  which  to  carry 
the  finer  grasses  for  the  lining  and  the  down  from 
last  season’s  bursted  cat-tails.  When  a nest 
is  finished,  its  entrance  is  often  cleverly  con- 
cealed. If  there  are  several  feet  of  water  below 
the  high  and  dry  cradle,  so  much  the  better, 
think  the  wrens — fewer  enemies  can  get  at 
them ; but  they  do  sometimes  build  in  meadows 
that  are  merely  damp.  In  such  meadows  the 
short-billed  marsh  wren,  a slightly  smaller 
sprite,  prefers  to  live. 

THE  BROWN  THRASHER 

Called  also:  Brown  Thrush;  Long  Thrush; 

Ground  Thrush;  Red  Thrush;  French  Mock- 
ing-bird; Mavis. 

People  who  are  not  very  well  acquainted 
with  the  birds  about  them  usually  mistake  the 


42  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

long-tailed  brown  thrasher  for  a thrush  because 
he  has  a rusty  back  and  a speckled  white  breast, 
which  they  seem  to  think  is  an  exclusive  thrush 
characteristic,  which  it  certainly  is  not.  The 
oven-bird  and  several  members  of  the  sparrow 
tribe,  among  other  birds,  have  speckled  and 
streaked  breasts,  too.  The  brown  thrasher  is 
considerably  larger  than  a thrush  and  his 
habits  are  quite  different.  Watch  him  ner- 
vously twitch  his  long  tail,  or  work  it  up 
and  down  like  one  end  of  a see-saw,  or  sud- 
denly jerk  it  up  erect  while  he  sits  at  attention 
in  the  thicket,  then  droop  it  when,  after  mount- 
ing to  a conspicuous  perch,  he  lifts  his  head  to 
sing,  and  you  will  probably  “guess  right  the 
very  first  time”  that  he  is  a near  relative  of  the 
wrens,  not  a thrush  at  all.  As  a little  sailor- 
boy  once  said  to  me,  “ He  carries  his  tell-tail 
on  the  stern.” 

Like  his  cousin,  the  catbird,  the  brown  thrasher 
likes  to  live  in  bushy  thickets  overgrown  v/ith 
vines.  Here,  running  over  the  ground  among 
the  fallen  leaves,  he  picks  up  with  his  long  slen- 
der bill,  worms.  May  beetles  and  scores  of  other 
kinds  of  insects  that,  but  for  him,  would  soon 
find  their  way  to  the  garden,  orchard,  and  fields. 
Yet  few  farmers  ever  thank  him.  Because 
they  don’t  often  see  him  picking  up  the  insects 
in  their  cultivated  land,  they  wrongly  conclude 
that  he  does  them  no  benefit,  only  mischief, 


The  Brown  Thrasher 


43 


because,  occasionally,  he  does  eat  a little  fruit. 
It  seems  to  be  a dreadful  sin  for  a fellow  in 
feathers  to  help  himself  to  a strawberry  or  a 
cherry  or  a little  grain  now  and  then,  although, 
having  eaten  quantities  of  insects  that,  but 
for  him,  would  have  destroyed  them,  who  has 
earned  a better  right  to  a share  of  the  profits? 

Do  you  think  the  brown  thrasher  looks  any 
more  like  a cuckoo  than  he  does  like  a thrush? 
Simply  because  he  is  nearly  as  long  as  the  dull 
brownish  cuckoo  and  has  a brown  back, 
though  of  quite  a different  tawny  shade, 
some  boys  and  girls  say  it  is  difficult  to  tell 
the  two  birds  apart.  The  cuckoo  glides  through 
the  air  as  easily  as  if  he  were  floating  ‘down 
stream,  whereas  the  thrasher’s  flight,  like 
the  wren’s,  is  tilting,  uneven,  flapping,  and 
often  jerky.  If  you  make  good  use  of  your 
sharp  eyes,  you  will  be  able  to  tell  many  birds 
by  their  flight  alone,  long  before  you  can  see  the 
colour  of  their  feathers.  The  passive  cuckoo  has 
no  speckles  on  his  light  breast,  and  the  yellow- 
billed cuckoo,  at  least,  has  white  thumb-nail 
spots  on  his  well-behaved  tail,  which  he  never 
thrashes,  twitches,  and  balances  as  the  active, 
suspicious  thrasher  does  his.  Moreover  the 
cuckoo’s  notes  sound  like  a tree-toad’s  rattle, 
while  the  thrasher’s  song — a merry  peal  of  music 
— entrances  every  listener.  He  seems  rather 
proud  of  it,  to  tell  the  truth,  for  although  at 


44  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

other  times  he  may  keep  himself  concealed 
among  the  shrubbery,  when  about  to  sing,  he 
chooses  a conspicuous  perch  as  if  to  attract 
attention  to  his  truly  briliiant  performance. 

The  thrasher  has  been  called  a ground 
“thrush”  because  it  so  often  chooses  to  place 
its  nest  at  the  roots  of  tall  weeds  in  an  open 
field ; but  a low  bush  frequently  suits  it  quite  as 
well.  Its  bulky  nest  is  not  a very  choice  piece 
of  architecture.  Twigs,  leaves,  vine  tendrils, 
and  bits  of  bark  form  its  walls,  and  the  speckled, 
greenish  blue  eggs  within  are  usually  laid  upon 
a lining  of  fine  black  rootlets. 


THE  CATBIRD 

Slim,  lithe,  elegant,  dainty,  the  catbird,  as 
he  runs  lightly  over  the  lawn  or  hunts  among 
the  shrubbery,  appears  to  be  a fine  gentleman 
among  his  kind — a sort  of  Beau  Brummel  in 
smooth,  gray  feathers  who  has  preened  and 
prinked  until  his  toilet  is  quite  faultless.  You 
would  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  he  slept 
on  rose  petals  and  manicured  his  claws.  He  is 
among  the  first  to  discover  the  bathing  dish  or 
drinking  pan  that  you  have  set  up  in  your 
garden,  for  he  is  not  too  squeamish,  in  spite  of 
his  fine  appearance,  to  drink  from  his  bath. 
With  well-poised,  black-capped  head  erect,  and 


45 


The  Catbird 

tail  tip  too,  wren  fashion,  he  stands  at  attention 
on  the  rim  of  the  dish,  alert,  listening,  tense — 
the  neatest,  trimmest  figure  in  birddom. 

After  he  has  flown  off  to  the  nearest  thicket, 
what  a change  suddenly  comes  over  him ! Can 
it  be  the  same  bird?  With  puffed  out,  ruffled 
feathers,  hanging  head,  and  drooping  tail,  he 
now  suggests  a fat,  tousled  schoolboy,  just 
tumbled  out  of  bed.  Was  ever  a bird  more 
contradictory?  One  minute,  from  the  depths 
of  the  bushy  undergrowth  where  he  loves  to 
hide,  he  delights  you  with  the  sweetest  of  songs, 
not  loud  like  the  brown  thrasher’s,  but  similar; 
only  it  is  more  exquisitely  finished,  and  rippling. 
"Prut!  Prut!  coquillicot!”  he  begins.  "Really, 
really,  coquillicot!  Hey,  coquillicot!  Hey,  victory!” 
his  inimitable  song  goes  on  like  a rollicking 
recitative.  The  next  minute  you  would  gladly 
stop  your  ears  when  he  utters  the  disagreeable 
cat-call  that  has  given  him  his  name.  " Zeay, 
Zeay” — ^whines  the  petulant  cry.  Now  you  see 
him  on  the  ground  calmly  looking  for  grass- 
hoppers, or  daintily  helping  himself  to  a morsel 
from  the  dog’s  plate  at  the  kitchen  door.  Sud- 
denly, with  a jerk  and  a jump,  he  has  sprung 
into  the  air  to  seize  a passing  moth.  There  is 
always  the  pleasure  of  variety  and  the  unex- 
pected about  the  catbird. 

He  is  very  intelligent  and  friendly,  like  his 
cousin,  the  mockingbird.  One  catbird  that 


46  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

comes  to  visit  me  at  least  ten  times  every  day, 
can  scarcely  wait  for  the  milk  to  be  poured  into 
the  dog’s  bowl  before  he  has  flown  to  the  brim 
for  the  first  drink.  Once,  in  his  eagerness,  he 
alighted  on  the  pitcher  in  my  hand.  He  has 
a pretty  trick  of  flying  to  the  sun  dial  as  if  he 
wished  to  learn  the  time  of  day.  From  this 
point  of  vantage,  he  will  sail  off  suddenly,  like  a 
flycatcher,  to  seize  an  insect  on  the  wing.  He 
has  a keen  appetite  for  so  many  pests  of  the 
garden  and  orchard — moths,  grasshoppers, 
beetles,  caterpillars,  spiders,  flies  and  other  in- 
sects— that  his  friendship,  you  see,  is  well  worth 
cultivating.  Five  catbirds,  whose  diet  was  care- 
fully watched  by  scientific  men  in  Washington, 
ate  thirty  grasshoppers  each  for  one  meal. 

Yet  how  many  people  ignorantly  abuse  the 
catbird!  Because  he  has  the  good  taste  to  like 
strawberries  and  cherries  as  well  as  we  do,  is  he 
to  be  condemned  on  that  account?  If  he  kills 
insects  for  us  every  waking  hour  from  April  to 
October,  don’t  you  think  he  is  entitled  to  a 
little  fruit  in  June?  The  ox  that  treadeth  out 
the  corn  is  not  to  be  muzzled,  so  that  he  cannot 
have  a taste  of  it,  you  remember.  A good  way 
to  protect  our  strawberry  patches  and  cherry 
trees  from  catbirds,  mockingbirds,  and  robins, 
is  to  provide  fruit  that  they  like  much  better — 
the  red  mulberry.  Nothing  attracts  so  many 
birds  to  a place.  A mulberry  tree  in  the  chicken 


The  Mockingbird 


47 


yard  provides  a very  popular  restaurant,  not 
only  for  the  song  birds  among  the  branches, 
but  for  the  scratchers  on  the  ground  floor. 

Like  the  yellow-breasted  chat,  the  catbird 
likes  to  hide  its  nest  in  a tangle  of  cat  brier  along 
the  roadside  undergrowth  and  in  bushy,  wood- 
land thickets.  Last  winter,  when  that  vicious 
vine  had  lost  every  leaf,  I counted  in  it  eighteen 
catbird  nests  within  a quarter  of  a mile  along 
a country  lane.  Long  before  the  first  snow- 
storm, the  inmates  of  those  nests  were  enjoying 
summer  weather  again  from  the  Gulf  States  to 
Panama.  If  one  nest  should  be  disturbed  in  May 
or  June,  when  the  birds  are  raising  their  families, 
all  the  catbird  neighbours  join  in  the  outcry  of 
mews  and  cat-calls.  Should  a disaster  happen 
to  the  parents,  the  orphans  will  receive  food  and 
care  from  some  devoted  foster-mother  until  they 
are  able  to  fly.  You  see  catbirds  are  something 
far  better  than  intelligent,  musical  dandies. 


THE  MOCKINGBIRD 

What  child  is  there  who  does  not  know  the 
mockingbird,  caged  or  free?  In  the  North  you 
very  rarely  see  one  now-a-days  behind  prison 
bars,  for,  happily,  several  enlightened  states 
have  made  laws  to  punish  people  who  keep  our 
wild  birds  in  cages  or  offer  them  for  sale,  dead  or 


48  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

alive.  When  all  the  states  make  and  enforce 
similar  laws,  there  will  be  an  end  to  the  barbaric 
slaughter  of  many  birds  for  no  more  worthy 
end  than  the  trimming  of  hats  for  thought- 
less girls  and  women.  Birds  of  bright  plumage 
have  suffered  most,  of  course,  but  the  mocking- 
birds’ nests  have  been  robbed  for  so  many 
generations  to  furnish  caged  fledglings  for  both 
American  and  European  bird  dealers,  that  shot 
guns  could  have  done  no  work  more  deadly. 
Where  the  people  are  too  ignorant  to  understand 
what  mockingbirds  are  doing  for  them  every  day 
in  the  year  by  eating  insects  in  their  gardens, 
fields,  parks,  and  public  squares,  they  are  shot 
in  great  numbers  for  the  sole  offence  of  helping 
themselves  to  a small  fraction  of  the  very  fruit 
they  have  helped  to  preserve.  Even  the  birds 
ought  to  have  a “square  deal”  in  free  America: 
don’t  you  think  so  ? 

Although  not  afflicted  with  “ the  fatal  gift  of 
beauty,”  at  least  not  the  gaudy  kind,  like  the 
cardinal’s  and  scarlet  tanager’s,  the  mocking- 
bird’s wonderful  voice  has  brought  upon  him 
an  equal  quantity  of  troubles.  Keenly  intelli- 
gent though  he  is,  he  does  not  know  enough  to 
mope  and  refuse  to  sing  in  a cage,  but  whiles 
away  the  tedious  hours  of  his  captivity  by  all 
manner  of  amusing  and  delightful  sounds.  In- 
deed it  has  been  found  that  the  household  pet  is 
apt  to  be  a better  mocker  than  the  wild  bird — 


The  Mockingbird 


49 


a most  unfortunate  discovery.  Not  only  does 
he  imitate  the  notes  of  birds  about  him,  but  he 
invents  all  manner  of  quips  and  vocal  jugglery. 

His  love  song  is  entrancing.  “ Oft  in  the 
stilly  night,  ” when  the  moonlight  sheds  a sil- 
very radiance  about  every  sleeping  creature, 
the  mockingbird  sings  to  his  mate  such  delicious 
music  as  only  the  European  nightingale  can 
rival.  Perhaps  the*  stillness  of  the  hour,  the 
beauty  and  fragrance  of  the  place  where  the 
singer  is  hidden  among  the  orange  blossoms  or 
magnolia,  increase  the  magic  of  his  almost 
pathetically  sweet  voice ; but  surely  there  is  no 
lovelier  sound  in  nature  on  this  side  of  the  sea. 
Our  poet  Lanier  declared  that  this  “ heavenly 
bird  ” will  be  hailed  as  “ Brother”  by  Beethoven 
and  Keats  when  he  enters  the  choir  invisible 
in  the  spirit  world. 

Ever  alert,  on  the  qui  vive,  the  mockingbird 
can  no  more  suppress  the  music  within  him, 
night  or  day,  than  he  can  keep  his  nervous, 
high-strung  body  at  rest.  From  his  restlessness 
alone  you  might  know  he  is  the  cousin  of  the 
catbird  and  brown  thrasher  and  is  closely  re- 
lated to  the  wrens.  Flitting  from  perch  to 
perch  (fluttering  is  one  of  his  chief  amusements 
even  in  a cage) , taking  short  flights  from  tree  to 
tree,  and  so  displaying  the  white  signals  on  his 
wings  and  tail,  hopping  lightly,  swiftly,  grace- 
fully over  the  ground,  bounding  into  the  air. 


50  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

or  the  next  minute  shooting  his  ashy  gray 
body  far  across  the  garden  and  leaving  a wake 
of  music  behind  as  he  flies,  he  seems  to  be  per- 
petually in  motion.  If  you  live  in  the  South 
you  can  encourage  no  more  delightful  neighbour 
than  this  star  performer  in  the  group  of  lively 
singers. 


“MAMMA!” 

Young  mockingbird  calling  for  breakfast 


All  is  well  •with,  this  yellow  warbler’s  nest 


Dinner  for  one  : a black-and-white  warbler  feeding  her  baby 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  WARBLERS 

Yellow  Warbler 

Black  and  White  Creeping  Warbler 
Oven-bird 

Maryland  Yellow-throat 
Yellow-breasted  Chat 
Redstart 


YELLOW  WARBLER 


Called  also:  Summer  Yellowbird;  Wild  Canary. 

Rather  than  live  where  the  skies  are  gray 
and  the  air  is  cold,  this  adventurous  little 
warbler  will  travel  two  thousand  miles  or  more  to 
follow  the  sun.  A trip  from  Panama  to  Canada 
and  back  again  within  five  months  does  not 
appal  him.  By  living  in  perpetual  sunshine 
his  feathers  seemed  to  have  absorbed  some  of  it, 
so  that  he  looks  like  a stray  sunbeam  playing 
among  the  shrubbery  on  the  lawn,  the  trees  in 
the  orchard,  the  bushes  in  the  roadside  thicket, 
the  willows  and  alders  beside  the  stream.  He 
is  shorter  than  the  English  sparrow  by  an  inch. 
Although  you  may  not  get  close  enough  to  see 
that  his  yellow  breast  is  finely  streaked  with 
reddish  brown,  you  may  know  by  these  marks 
that  he  is  not  what  you  at  first  suspected  he 
was— somebody’s  pet  canary  escaped  from  a 
cage.  It  is  not  he  but  the  goldfinch — the 
yellow  bird  with  the  black  wings — ^who  sings 
like  a canary.  Happily  he  is  so  neighbourly 
that  every  child  may  easily  become  acquainted 
with  this  most  common  member  of  the  large 
warbler  family. 

S3 


54  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

I don’t  believe  there  is  anybody  living  who 
could  name  at  sight  every  one  of  the  seventy 
warblers  that  visit  the  United  States.  Some 
are  very  gaily  coloured  and  exquisitely  marked, 
as  birds  coming  to  us  from  the  tropics  have  a 
right  to  be.  Some  are  quietly  clad;  some,  like 
the  redstart,  are  dressed  quite  differently  from 
their  mates  and  young;  others,  like  the  yellow 
warbler,  are  so  nearly  alike  that  you  could  see 
no  difference  between  the  male  and  female  from 
the  distance  of  a few  feet.  Some  live  in  the 
tops  of  evergreens  and  other  tall  trees ; others, 
like  the  Maryland  yellow-throat,  which  seems 
to  prefer  low  trees  and  shrubbery,  are  rarely 
seen  over  twelve  feet  from  the  ground.  A few, 
like  the  oven-bird,  haunt  the  undergrowth  in 
the  woods  or  live  most  of  the  time  on  the  earth. 
With  three  or  four  exceptions  all  the  warblers 
dwell  in  woodlands,  and  it  is  only  during  the 
spring  and  autumn  migrations  that  we  have  an 
opportunity  to  become  acquainted  with  them ; 
when  they  come  about  the  orchard  and  shrub- 
bery for  a few  days’  rest  and  refreshment  during 
their  travels.  Fortunately  the  cheerful  little 
yellow  warbler  stays  around  our  homes  all 
summer  long.  Did  you  ever  know  a family  so 
puzzling  and  contradictory  as  the  Warblers? 

The  great  majority  of  these  fascinating  and 
exasperating  relatives  are  nervous,  restless  little 
sprites,  constantly  flitting  from  branch  to 


Yellow  Warbler 


55 


branch  and  from  twig  to  twig  in  a never-ending 
search  for  small  insects.  As  well  try  to  catch 
a weasel  asleep  as  a warbler  at  rest.  People 
who  live  in  the  tropics,  even  for  a little  while, 
soon  become  lazy.  Not  so  the  warblers,  whose 
energy,  like  a steam  engine’s,  seems  to  be  in- 
creased by  heat.  Of  course  they  do  not  undertake 
long  journeys  merely  for  pleasure,  as  wealthy 
human  tourists  do.  They  must  migrate  to  find 
food ; and  as  insects  are  most  plentiful  in  warm 
weather,  you  see  why  these  atoms  of  animation 
keep  in  perpetual  motion.  They  are  among  the 
last  migrants  to  come  north  in  the  spring  and 
among  the  first  to  leave  in  the  autumn  because 
insects  don’t  hatch  out  in  cool  weather,  and 
the  birds  must  always  be  sure  of  plenty  to  eat. 
Travelling  as  they  do,  chiefly  by  night,  they  are 
killed  in  numbers  against  the  lighthouses  and 
electric  light  towers  which  especially  fascinate 
these  poor  little  victims. 

Who  first  misled  us  by  calling  these  birds 
warblers?  The  truth  is  there  is  not  one  really 
fine  singer,  like  a thrush,  in  the  whole  family.. 
The  yellow-breasted  chat  has  remarkable  vocal 
ability,  but  he  is  not  a real  musician  like  the 
mockingbird,  who  also  likes  to  have  fun  with 
his  voice.  The  warblers,  as  a rule,  have  weak, 
squeaky,  or  wiry  songs  and  lisping  tseep  call 
notes,  neither  of  which  ought  to  be  called  a 
warble.  The  yellow  warbler  sings  as  acceptably 


56  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

as  most  of  his  kin.  Seven  times  he  rapidly 
repeats  “ Sweet — sweet — sweet — sweet — sweet — 
sweeter-sweeter”  to  his  sweetheart,  but  this 
happy  little  lovemaker’s  incessant  song  is  apt 
to  become  almost  tiresome  to  everybody  except 
his  mate. 

What  a clever  little  creature  she  is!  More 
than  any  other  bird  she  suffers  from  the  per- 
secutions of  that  dusky  rascal,  the  cowbird. 
In  May,  with  much  help  from  her  mate,  she 
builds  an  exquisite  little  cradle  of  silvery  plant 
fibre,  usually  shreds  of  milkweed  stalk,  grass, 
leaves,  and  caterpillars’  silk,  neatly  lined  with 
hair,  feathers,  and  the  downy  felt  of  fern  fronds. 
The  cradle  is  sometimes  placed  in  the  crotch 
of  an  elder  bush,  sometimes  in  a willow  tree; 
preferably  near  water  where  insects  are  abun- 
dant, but  often  in  a terminal  branch  of  some 
orchard  tree. 

Scarcely  is  it  finished  before  the  skulking 
cowbird  watches  her  chance  to  lay  an  egg 
in  it  that  she  may  not  be  bothered  with  the 
care  of  her  own  baby.  She  knows  that  the 
yellow  warbler  is  a gentle,  amiable,  devoted 
mother,  who  will  probably  work  herself  to  death, 
if  necessary,  rather  than  let  the  big  baby  cow- 
bird starve.  But  she  sometimes  makes  a great 
mistake  in  her  individual.  Not  all  yellow 
warblers  will  permit  the  outrage.  They  prefer 
to  weave  a new  bottom  to  their  nest,  over  the 


Black  and  White  Creeping  Warbler  57 

cowbird’s  egg,  although  they  may  seal  up  their 
own  speckled  treasures  with  it.  Suppose  the 
wicked  cowbird  comes  back  and  lays  still  an- 
other egg  in  the  two-storied  nest : what  then  ? 
The  little  Spartan  yellow  bird  has  been  known 
to  weave  still  another  layer  of  covering  rather 
than  hatch  out  an  unwelcome,  greedy  inter- 
loper to  crowd  and  starve  her  own  precious 
babies.  Two  and  even  three-storied  nests  are 
to  be  found  by  bright-eyed  boys  and  girls. 

BLACK  AND  WHITE  CREEPING 
WARBLER 

You  may  possibly  mistake  this  little  warbler 
for  a downy  woodpecker  when  first  you  see  him 
creeping  rapidly  over  the  bark  of  trees,  or  hang- 
ing from  the  under  side  of  the  branches.  But 
when  he  flits  restlessly  from  twig  to  twig  and 
from  tree  to  tree  without  taking  time  to  exam- 
ine spots  thoroughly ; especially  when  he  calls 
a few  thin  wiry  notes — zee-zee-zee-zee — you  may 
know  he  is  no  woodpecker,  but  a warbler. 
Woodpeckers  have  thick  set,  high  shouldered 
bodies  which  they  flatten  against  the  tree  trunks ; 
the  males  wear  red  in  their  caps,  and  all  have 
larger,  stouter  bills  than  the  warbler’s.  Moreover, 
no  woodpecker  is  so  small  as  this  streaked  and 
speckled  little  creature  who  is  usually  too  intent 


58  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

on  feeding  to  utter  a single  zee.  You  could  not 
possibly  confuse  him  with  the  dilligent,  placid 
brown  creeper  or  with  the  slate-blue  nuthatch 
which  also  creeps  along  the  branches  on  the 
under  or  upper  side.  Some  children  I know 
call  this  black  and  white  warbler  the  little  zebra 
bird.  Would  that  all  warblers  were  so  easily 
identified! 


OVEN-BIRD 

Called  also:  The  Teacher;  Golden-crowned  Thrush; 

The  Accentor. 

“ Teacher — Teacher — teacher — ^TEACHER — 
TEACHER  ! ” resounds  a penetrating,  accented 
voice  from  the  woods.  Who  calls  ? Not  an  im- 
patient scholar,  as  you  might  suppose,  but  a shy 
little  thrush-like  warbler  who  has  no  use  whatever 
for  any  human  being,  especially  at  the  nesting 
season  in  May  and  June,  when  he  calls  most 
loudly  and  frequently.  Beginning  quite  softly,  i 
he  gradually  increases  the  intensity  of  each 
pair  of  notes  in  a crescendo  that  seems  to  come 
from  a point  much  nearer  than  it  really  does. 
Once  heard  it  is  never  forgotten,  and  you  can 
always  be  sure  of  naming  at  least  one  bird  by 
his  voice  alone.  However,  his  really  exquisite 
love  song — a clear,  ringing,  vivacious  melody, 
.uttered  while  the  singer  is  fluttering,  hovering. 


The  ovenbird  who  calls  “Teacher,  Teacher^  teacher,  TEACHER,  TEACHER! 


Ovenbird  in  her  cleverly  hidden  nest.  Some  of  the  leaves 
and  sticks  have  been  pulled  away  from  the  front  to 
secure  her  picture 


Youn^  ovenbirds  on  day  of  leaving;  nest 


Oven-bird 


59 


high  among  the  tree-tops — is  rarely  heard,  or 
if  heard  is  not  recognised  as  the  teacher’s 
aerial  serenade.  He  is  a warbler,  let  it  be  re- 
corded, who  really  can  sing,  and  beautifully, 
however  rarely. 

Why  is  he  called  the  oven-bird?  A little 
girl  I know  was  offered  five  dollars  by  her  father 
if  she  could  find  the  bird’s  nest  in  the  high  dry 
woods  near  her  home.  “Teacher!”  was  the 
commonest  sound  that  came  from  them.  It 
rang  in  her  ears  all  day,  so  of  course  she  thought 
it  would  be  ‘ ‘too  easy’  ’ to  earn  the  money.  Every 
afternoon,  when  school  was  out,  she  tramped 
through  the  woods  hour  after  hour,  poking  about 
among  the  dead  leaves,  the  snapping  twigs, 
the  velvety  moss,  the  fallen  logs,  the  young 
spring  growth  of  the  little  plants  and  creepers, 
always  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  ground  where 
she  knew  the  nest  would  be  found.  Day  after 
day  she  continued  the  search.  Every  time  she 
saw  a little  hump  of  dead  leaves  or  twigs  and 
grasses  her  heart  bounded  with  hope,  but  on 
closer  examination  she  found  no  nest  at  all. 
Finally,  one  day  when  she  was  becoming  dis- 
couraged, she  spied  in  the  path  a little  brownish 
olive  bird,  about  the  size  of  an  English  sparrow, 
but  with  a speckled,  thrush-like  breast  and  a 
dull  orange  V-shaped  patch,  bordered  by  black 
lines,  on  the  top  of  his  head.  He  was  walking 
about  on  the  ground,  nodding  his  head  as  if 


6o  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

marking  time,  not  hopping,  sparrow-fashion; 
and  he  took  very  dainty,  pretty  steps  that  sug- 
gested a French  dancing  master.  Occasionally 
he  would  scratch  the  path  for  insects,  like  a tiny 
chicken.  Although  she  had  never  seen  the 
teacher,  and  had  expected  that  the  loud  voice 
came  from  a much  larger  bird,  she  felt  sure  that 
this  must  be  he,  so  she  sat  down  on  a log  and 
watched  and  waited.  Presently  she  saw  him  tug 
at  a fine  black  hair-like  root  that  lay  across  the 
path,  and,  snapping  it  off,  quickly  fly  away, 
away — oh,  where  did  he  go  with  it?  She  ran 
stumbling  after  him  through  the  undergrowth 
to  a little  clearing.  There  another  bird,  just 
like  him,  whom  she  instantly  guessed  was  his 
mate,  flew  straight  toward  her,  dropped  to  the 
ground,  ran  about  distractedly,  dragging  one 
wing  as  if  it  were  broken,  and  uttering  sharp, 
piteous  notes  of  alarm.  The  little  girl  didn’t 
like  to  distress  the  birds,  of  course,  but  how 
oould  she  resist  the  temptation  to  find  their 
nest?  So  on  she  tramped  around  and  around  in 
an  ever  widening  circle,  the  excited  birds  still 
hovering  near  and  sharply  scolding  her.  You 
may  be  sure  she  was  quite  as  excited  as  they. 

At  last,  a little  dome-shaped  mound  of 
grasses,  half  hidden  among  the  dry  brown  oak 
leaves  and  wild  geranium,  gladdened  her  eyes. 
Running  around  to  the  opposite  side  she  knelt 
down  on  the  grass,  peeped  under  the  arched  roof 


Maryland  Yellow-throat 


6i 


and  into  the  nest,  which  was  shaped  like  an 
old-fashioned  Dutch  oven.  Was  ever  a sight  so 
welcome?  She  almost  screamed  with  joy. 
Through  the  opening  on  one  side,  that  was  about 
three  inches  high,  she  could  see  the  lining  of 
fine  black  rootlets,  just  like  the  one  she  had 
watched  the  bird  snap  off  and  carry  away. 
Then  she  flew  home,  as  if  she  too  had  wings, 
and,  calling  breathlessly  “Oh  Father!  Father! 
I’ve  found  it!”  burst  into  the  house.  A week 
before  even  one  white  speckled  egg  had  been  laid 
in  the  oven-bird’s  nest,  there  was  a golden 
halfeagle  in  a happy  little  girl’s  palm.  A fort- 
night later  a man  with  a camera  took  a picture 
of  the  patient  mother-bird,  whose  pretty  striped 
head  you  see  peeping  out  from  under  the  dome. 


MARYLAND  YELLOW-THROAT 

Called  also:  Black-masked  Ground  Warbler 

This  gay  little  warbler  looks  as  if  he  were 
dressed  for  a masquerade  ball  with  a gray-edged 
black  mask  over  his  face  and  the  sides  of  his 
throat,  a brownish  green  coat  and  a bright 
yellow  vest.  He  is  smaller  than  a sparrow. 
How  sharply  the  inquisitive  fellow  peers  at  you 
through  his  mask  whenever  you  pass  the  damp 
thicket,  bordering  the  marshy  land,  where  he 


&2  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

likes  best  to  live ! And  how  quickly  he  hops  from 
twig  to  twig  and  flies  from  one  clump  of  bushes 
to  another  clump,  in  restless,  warbler  fashion, 
as  he  leads  you  a dance  in  pursuit!  Not  for 
a second  does  he  stop  watching  you. 

If  you  come  too  close,  a sharp  pit-pit  or  chock 
is  snapped  out  by  the  excited  bird,  whose  fa- 
miliar, oft-repeated,  sprightly,  waltzing  triplet 
has  been  too  freely  translated,  he  thinks,  into, 
Fol-low-me,  fol-low-me,  fol-low-me.  Pursuit  is 
the  last  thing  he  really  desires,  and  of  course  he 
issues  no  such  invitation.  What  he  actually 
says  almost  always  sounds  to  me  like  Witch- 
ee-tee,  witch-ee-tee , witch-ee-tee.  You  will  surely 
hear  him  if  you  listen  in  his  marshy  retreats. 
He  sings  almost  all  summer.  Except  when 
nesting  he  comes  into  the  garden,  picks  minute 
insects  out  of  the  blossoming  shrubbery,  hops 
about  on  the  ground,  visits  the  raspberry  tangle, 
and  hides  among  the  bushes  along  the  roadside. 
Only  the  yellow  warbler,  of  all  his  numerous 
tribe,  is  disposed  to  be  more  neighbourly.  In 
spite  of  his  local  name,  he  is  to  be  found  in  winter 
from  Georgia  to  Labrador  and  Manitoba  west- 
ward to  the  Plains.  You  see  he  is  something  of 
a traveller. 

The  little  bird  who  bewitches  him,  and  to 
whom  he  sings  the  witch’s  song,  wears  no  black 
mask,  so  it  is  not  easy  to  name  her  if  her  mate  is 
not  about.  Her  plumage  is  duller  than  his  and 


The  Yellow-breasted  Chat 


63 


the  sides  of  her  plump  little  body,  which  are 
yellowish  brown,  shade  into  grayish  white 
underneath.  Sometimes  you  may  catch  her 
carrying  weeds,  strips  of  bark,  broad  grasses, 
tendrils,  reeds,  and  leaves  for  the  outside  of 
her  deep  cradle,  and  finer  grasses  for  its  lining, 
to  a spot  on  the  ground  where  plants  and  low 
bushes  help  conceal  it.  She  does  not  build  so 
beautiful  a nest  as  the  yellow  warbler,  but  like 
her  she,  too,  poor  thing,  sometimes  siiffers 
from  the  sneaking  visits  of  the  cowbird.  Un- 
happily, she  is  not  so  clever  as  her  cousin, 
for  she  meekly  consents  to  hatch  out  the  cow- 
bird’s  egg  and  let  the  big,  greedy  interloper 
crowd  and  worry  and  starve  her  own  brood. 
Why  does  the  cowardly  cowbird  always  choose 
a victim  smaller  than  herself? 


THE  YELLOW-BREASTED  CHAT 

“ Now  he  barks  like  a puppy,  then  quacks 
like  a duck,  then  rattles  like  a kingfisher,  then 
squalls  like  a fox,  then  caws  like  a crow,  then 
mews  like  a cat — C-r-r-r-r-r-whrr-that's  it — 
Chee-quack,  cluck,  yit-yit-yit-now — hit  it — 
ir-r-r-r-wheu-caw-caw-cut,  cut-tea-boy-who,  who- 
mew,  mew,”  writes  John  Burroughs  of  this 
rollicking  polyglot,  the  chat;  but  not  even 
that  close  student  of  nature  could  set  down  on 


64  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

paper  all  the  multitude  of  queer  sounds  with 
which  the  bird  amuses  himself.  He  might  be 
mistaken  for  a dozen  different  birds  and  animals 
in  as  many  minutes. 

Such  a secretive  roysterer  is  he  that  you  may 
rarely  see  him,  however  often  you  may  hear  his 
voice  when  he  is  hidden  beyond  sight  in  partial 
clearings  or  the  bushy,  briery,  thickety  openings 
in  the  woods.  As  he  seems  to  delight  in  keep- 
ing pursuers  off  by  a natural  fence  of  barbed 
wire,  the  cat  brier,  wild  blackberry,  raspberry, 
and  rose  bushes  are  among  his  favourite  plants. 
But  if  you  will  sit  down  quietly  near  his  home, 
your  patience  will  probably  be  rewarded  by  the 
sight  of  this  largest  of  the  warblers,  with  olive 
green  upper  parts,  a conspicuous  white  line 
running  from  his  bill  around  his  eye  and  another 
along  his  throat,  and  a bright  yellow  breast 
shading  to  grayish  white  underneath.  He  is 
over  an  inch  longer  than  the  English  sparrow. 
His  wife  looks  just  like  him. 

The  zany  at  the  circus  can  go  through  no 
more  clownish  tricks  than  the  chat.  See  him, 
a mere  bunch  of  feathers,  dance  and  balance  in 
the  air,  now  fluttering,  now  falling  as  if  he  had 
been  shot,  or  turning  aerial  somersaults,  now 
rising  and  trailing  his  legs  behind  him  like  a 
stork,  now  dropping  out  of  sight  in  the  thickest 
part  of  the  thicket.  The  instant  he  spies  you, 
Chut-chut,  he  scolds  from  the  briars.  Shy, 


The  Redstart 


65 


eccentric,  absurd,  but  inspired  with  a “fine 
frenzy,”  which  is  a passionate  love  for  his  mate 
and  their  nest,  all  his  queer  notes  and  equally 
queer  stunts  centre  about  his  home.  On  moon- 
light nights,  Punchinello  entertains  himself  and 
Columbine  with  a series  of  inimitable  perfor- 
mances which  have  earned  him  the  title  of 
yellow  mockingbird.  He  can  throw  his  voice 
so  that  it  seems  to  come  from  quite  a different 
direction,  as  you  may  sometime  have  heard  a 
human  ventriloquist  do. 

THE  REDSTART 

When  this  exquisite  little  warbler  flashes  his 
brilliant  salmon  flame  and  black  feathers  among 
the  trees,  darting  hither  and  thither,  fluttering, 
spinning  about  in  the  air  after  insects  caught 
chiefly  on  the  wing,  you  will  surely  agree  that 
he  is  the  most  beautiful  as  well  as  the  most 
lively  bird  in  the  woods.  The  colour  scheme 
of  his  clothes  suggests  the  Baltimore  oriole’s, 
only  the  flaming  feathers  on  the  sides  of  his 
body,  wings,  and  tail  are  a pinker  shade  of  flame, 
and  the  black  ones  which  cover  his  back, 
throat,  and  upper  breast,  are  more  glossy,  with 
bluish  reflections.  Underneath  he  is  white, 
tinged  with  salmon.  But  you  could  not  pos- 
sibly mistake  this  lovely  little  sprite  for  the 
oriole,  he  is  so  much  smaller — ^about  an  inch 


66  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

shorter  than  the  sparrow.  His  cousin,  the 
Blackburnian  warbler,  a much  rarer  bird, 
with  a colour  scheme  of  black,  white,  and 
beautiful  rich  orange,  not  salmon  flame,  can  be 
named  instantly  by  the  large  amount  of  white 
in  his  tail  feathers.  There  are  so  few  brilliantly 
coloured  birds  that  find  their  way  to  us  from  the 
tropics,  that  it  should  not  take  any  boy  or  girl 
longer  to  learn  them  than  it  does  to  learn  the 
first  multiplication  table.  In  Cuba  the  red- 
start is  known  as  “ El  Candelita” — ^the  little 
candle  flame  that  flashes  in  the  deep,  dark,  trop- 
ical forest. 

Who  would  believe  that  this  small  firebrand, 
half  glowing,  half  charred,  whirling  about 
through  the  trees,  as  if  blown  by  the  wind,  is 
a cousin  of  the  sombre  oven-bird  that  walks 
so  daintily  and  leisurely  over  the  ground?  The 
redstart  keeps  perpetually  in  motion  that  he 
may  seize  gnats  and  other  gauzy  winged  mouth- 
fuls in  mid-air — not  as  the  flycatchers  do,  by  wait- 
ing on  a fence  rail  or  limb  of  a tree  for  a dinner  to 
fly  past,  then  dashing  out  and  seizing  it,  but 
by  flitting  about  constantly  in  search  of  insect 
prey.  The  bristles  at  the  base  of  his  biU  pre- 
vent many  an  insect  from  getting  past  it.  He 
rests  on  the  trees  only  long  enough  to  snatch  a 
morsel,  then  away  he  goes  again.  No  wonder 
the  Spaniards  call  all  the  gaily  coloured,  trop- 
ical wood  warblers  “Mariposas” — butterflies. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  VIREOS: 

ANOTHER  STRICTLY  AMERICAN 
FAMILY 

Red-Eyed  Vireo 
White-Eyed  Vireo 
Yellow-Throated  Vireo 
Warbling  Vireo 


THE  VIREOS 


VT" OU  know  that  if  the  birds  should  suddenly 
perish,  there  wouldn’t  be  a leaf,  a blade  of 
grass,  or  any  green  thing  left  upon  the  earth 
within  a few  years — it  would  be  uninhabitable. 

When  Dame  Nature,  the  most  thorough  of 
housekeepers,  gave  to  the  birds  the  task  of 
restraining  insects  within  bounds  so  that  man 
and  beast  could  live,  she  gave  the  care  of  foliage 
to  the  vireos.  It  is  true  that  most  of  the  war- 
blers, and  a few  other  birds  too,  hunt  for  their 
food  among  the  leaves,  but  with  nothing  like 
the  vireo’s  painstaking  care  and  thoroughness. 
The  nervous,  restless  warblers  flit  from  twig 
to  twig  without  half  exploring  the  foliage ; 
whereas  the  deliberate,  methodical  vireos  search 
leisurely  above  and  below  it,  cocking  their  little 
heads  so  as  to  look  up  at  the  under  side  of  the 
leaf  above  them  and  to  peck  off  the  destroyers 
hidden  there — ^bugs  of  many  kinds  and  count- 
less little  worms,  caterpillars,  weevils,  inch- 
worms,  May  beetles,  and  leaf-eating  beetles. 
Singing  as  they  go,  no  birds  more  successfully 
combine  work  and  play. 

Because  they  spend  their  lives  among  the 
foliage,  the  vireos  are  protectively  coloured ; with 

69 


7©  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

soft  grayish  or  olive  green  on  their  backs,  wings, 
and  tail,  whitish  or  yellow  below.  Some  people 
call  them  greenlets.  They  are  all  a little  smaller 
than  sparrows.  More  inconspicuous  birds  it 
would  be  hard  to  find  or  more  abundant,  al- 
though so  commonly  overlooked  except  by 
people  on  the  look-out  for  them.  Where  the 
new  growth  of  foliage  at  the  ends  of  the  branches 
is  young  and  tender,  many  insects  prefer  to  lay 
their  eggs  that  their  babies  may  have  the  most 
dainty  fare  as  soon  as  they  are  hatched.  They 
do  not  reckon  upon  the  vireos’  visits. 

Toward  the  end  of  April  or  the  first  of  May, 
these  tireless  gleaners  return  to  us  from  Central 
and  South  America  where  they  have  spent  the 
winter,  which  of  course  you  know,  is  no  winter 
on  the  other  side  of  the  equator,  but  a con- 
tinuation of  summer  for  them.  Competition 
for  food  being  more  fierce  in  the  tropics  than 
it  is  here,  millions  of  birds  besides  the  warblers 
and  vireos  travel  from  beyond  the  Isthmus  of 
Panama  to  the  United  States  and  back  again 
every  year  in  order  that  they  may  live  in  per- 
petual summer  with  an  abundance  of  food. 
If  any  child  thinks  that  birds  are  mere  creatures 
of  pleasure,  who  sing  to  pass  the  time  away,  he 
doesn’t  begin  to  understand  how  hard  they 
must  work  for  a living.  They  cannot  limit  their 
labours  to  an  eight-hour  day.  However,  they 
keep  cheerful  through  at  least  sixteen  busy  hours. 


The  Red-eyed  Vireo 


THE  RED-EYED  VIREO 

Almost  everywhere  in  the  Eastern  United 
States  and  Canada,  the  red-eyed  vireo  is  the 
most  common  member  of  his  family.  The 
only  individual  touch  to  his  costume  that  helps 
to  distinguish  him  is  a gray  cap  edged  with  a 
black  line  which  runs  parallel  to  his  conspicuous 
white  eyebrow.  He  wears  a dull  olive  coat  and 
a white  vest.  But  listen  to  the  Preacher ! You 
have  no  need  to  meet  him  face  to  face  in  order 
to  know  him:  “You  see  it — you  know  it — do  you 
hear  me? — do  you  believe  it?”  he  propounds  inces- 
santly through  the  long  summer  days,  even  after 
most  other  birds  are  silent.  Y ou  cannot  mistake 
his  voice.  With  a rising  inflection  at  the  end  of 
each  short,  jerky  sentence,  he  asks  a question 
very  distinctly  and  sweetly,  then  pauses  an 
instant  as  if  waiting  for  a reply — an  unusually 
courteous  orator.  His  monotonous  monologue, 
repeated  over  and  over  again,  comes  to  us  from 
the  elms  and  maples  in  the  village  street,  the 
orchard  and  woodland,  where  he  keeps  steadily 
and  deliberately  at  work.  Some  boys  say  they 
can  whittle  better  if  they  whistle.  Vireos 
«eem  to  hunt  more  thoroughly  if  they  sing. 

Like  the  rest  of  his  kin,  the  red-eyed  vireo  is 
quite  tame.  A little  girl  I know  actually  stroked 
the  pretty  head  of  a mother  bird  as  she  sat 
brooding  in  her  exquisite  nest,  and  a week  later 


72  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

carried  one  of  the  young  birds  all  around  the 
garden  on  a rake  handle. 

Vireos  are  remarkably  fine  builders — among 
the  very  best.  Although  their  nests  are  not  so 
deep  as  the  Baltimore  orioles’,  the  shape  and 
weave  are  similar.  The  red-eye  usually  prefers 
to  swing  her  cradle  from  a small  crotch  in  an 
oak  or  apple  tree  or  sapling,  and  securely  lace 
it  through  the  rim  on  to  the  forked  twigs.  Nests 
vary  in  appearance,  but  you  will  notice  that  these 
weavers  show  a preference  for  dried  grass  as  a 
foundation  into  which  are  wrought  bits  of  bark, 
lichen,  wasps’  nest  “paper,”  spider  web,  plant 
down,  and  curly  vine  tendrils. 


THE  WHITE-EYED  VIREO 

It  is  not  often  that  you  can  get  close  enough 
to  any  bird  to  see  the  white  of  his  eyes,  but  the 
brighter  olive  green  of  this  vivacious  little 
white-eyed  vireo’s  upper  parts,  his  white  breast, 
faintly  washed  with  yellow  on  the  sides,  and  the 
two  yellowish  white  bars  on  his  wings  help  you 
to  recognise  him  at  a distance.  Imagine  my 
surprise  to  meet  him  in  Bermuda,  over  six 
hundred  miles  out  at  sea  from  the  Carolina 
coast,  where  he,  too,  was  taking  a winter  va- 
cation! In  those  beautiful  islands,  where  our 
familiar  catbirds  and  cardinals  also  abound. 


The  White-eyed  Vireo 


73 


the  white-eyed  vireo  is  the  most  common  bird 
to  be  seen.  His  sweet,  vigorous,  irregular 
interrogation  may  be  heard  all  day.  But  there 
he  is  known  by  quite  a different  name — “ Chick 
of  the  Village.  ’ ’ It  was  a pleasant  shock  to  hear, 
“ Now,  who  are  you,  eh?”  piquantly  sung  out  at 
me,  a stranger  in  the  islands,  by  this  old  ac- 
quaintance in  a hibiscus  bush  within  a few  steps 
of  the  pier  where  the  steamer  landed. 

In  the  United  States  where  he  nests,  his 
manners  are  less  sociable;  in  fact  they  are 
rather  pert,  even  churlish  at  times,  and  never 
very  friendly.  Here  he  loves  to  hide  in  such 
low,  briery,  bushy  tangles  as  the  chat  and 
catbird  choose.  By  no  stretch  of  the  imagin- 
ation would  his  chic  Bermuda  name  fit  him 
here,  for  he  has  little  to  do  with  villages  and  he 
resents  your  advances  toward  more  intimate 
acquaintance  with  harsh,  cackling  scoldings, 
half  to  himself,  half  to  you,  until  you,  in  turn, 
resent  his  impertinence  and  leave  him  alone — 
just  what  the  independent  little  fellow  wanted. 
He  has  a strong,  decided  character,  you  perceive. 

His  precious  nest,  so  jealously  guarded,  is 
a deeper  cup  than  that  of  his  cousin  with  the 
red  eye,  deeper  than  that  of  any  of  the  other 
vireos,  and  it  usually  contains  three  favourite 
materials  in  addition  to  those  generally  chosen 
by  them:  they  are  bits  of  wood  usually  stolen 
from  some  woodpecker’s  hole,  shreds  of  paper. 


74  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

and  yards  and  yards  of  fine  caterpillar  silk, 
by  which  the  nest  is  hung  from  its  slender  fork 
in  the  thicket.  It  also  contains,  not  infre- 
quently, alas!  a cowbird’s  most  unwelcome  egg. 


THE  YELLOW-THROATED  VIREO 

In  a family  not  conspicuous  for  its  fine 
feathers,  this  is  certainly  the  beauty.  The 
clear  lemon  yellow  worn  at  its  throat  spreads 
over  its  vest;  its  coat  is  a richer  and  more 
yellowish  green  than  the  other  vireos  wear,  and 
its  two  white  wing-bars  are  as  conspicuous  as 
the  white-eyed  vireo’s.  Moreover  its  mellow 
and  rich  voice,  like  a contralto’s,  is  raised  to 
a higher  pitch  at  the  end  of  a sweetly  sung 
triplet.  “See  me;  I'm  here;  where  are  you}"  the 
singer  inquires  over  and  over  again  from  the 
trees  in  the  woodland,  or  perhaps  in  the  village 
when  nesting  duties  are  not  engrossing.  Don’t 
mistake  it  for  the  chat  simply  because  its 
throat  is  yellow. 

As  this  is  the  beauty  of  the  family,  so  is  it 
also  the  best  nest  builder. 


THE  WARBLING  VIREO 


High  up  in  the  top  of  elms  and  maples  that 
line  village  streets  where  the  red-eyed  vireo  loves 


The  Warbling  Vireo 


75 


to  hunt,  even  among  the  trees  of  so  busy  a 
thoroughfare  as  Boston  Common,  an  almost 
continuous  warble  in  the  early  summer  in- 
dicates that  some  unseen  singer  is  hidden  there ; 
but  even  if  you  get  a glimpse  of  the  warbling 
vireo  you  could  not  tell  him  from  his  red-eyed 
cousin  at  that  height.  Modestly  dressed,  with- 
out even  a white  eye-brow  or  wing-bars  to  re- 
lieve his  plain  dusty  olive  and  whitish  clothes, 
he  is  the  least  impressive  member  of  his  retiring, 
inconspicuous  family.  He  asks  you  no  ques- 
tions in  jerky,  colloquial  triplets  of  song,  so 
you  may  know  by  his  voice  at  least  that  he  is 
not  the  red-eyed  vireo.  Some  self-conscious 
birds,  like  the  song  sparrow,  mount  to  a con- 
spicuous perch  before  they  begin  to  sing,  as  if 
they  had  to  deliver  a distinct  number  on  a 
programme  before  a waiting  audience.  Not 
so  with  this  industrious  little  gleaner  to  whom 
singing  and  dining  seem  to  be  a part  of  the 
same  performance — one  and  inseparable.  He 
sings  as  he  goes,  snatching  a bit  of  insect  food 
between  warbles. 

Although  towns  do  not  affright  him,  he  really 
prefers  wooded  border-land  and  clearings,  es- 
pecially where  birch  trees  abound,  when  it  is 
time  to  rear  a family. 


A red  eyed  vireo  baby  in  his  cradle 


Out  of  it 


Horne  of  ilie  lo^^erhead  slii'ike,  with  plenty  of  convenient 
liooks  for  this  butcher  bird  to  han^^  meat  on 


CHAPTER  VI 


BIRDS  NOT  OF  A FEATHER 

Two  Butcher-Birds 
Cedar  Waxwing 
Scarlet  Tanager 


THE  BUTCHER-BIRDS  OR  SHRIKES 


TS  IT  not  curious  that  among  our  so-called 
song  birds  there  should  be  two,  about 
the  size  of  robins,  the  loggerhead  and  the 
northern  shrike,  with  the  hawk-like  habit  of 
killing  little  birds  and  mice,  and  the  squirrel’s 
and  blue  jay’s  trick  of  storing  what  they  cannot 
eat?  They  are  butchers,  with  the  thrifty 
custom  of  hanging  up  their  meat,  which  only 
improves  in  flavour  and  tenderness  after  a day 
or  two  of  curing.  Then,  even  if  storms  should 
drive  their  little  prey  to  shelter  and  snow  should 
cover  the  fields,  they  need  not  worry  nor  starve 
seeing  an  abundance  in  their  larder  provided 
for  the  proverbial  rainy  day. 

In  the  Southern  and  Middle  States,  where  the 
smaller  loggerhead  shrike  is  most  common, 
some  children  say  he  looks  like  a mockingbird ; 
but  the  feathers  on  his  back  are  surely  quite  a 
different  gray,  a light-bluish  ash,  and  pearly  on 
his  under  parts,  with  white  in  his  black  wings 
and  tail  which  is  conspicuous  as  he  flies.  His 
powerful  head,  which  is  large  for  his  size,  has  a 
heavy  black  line  running  from  the  end  of  his 
mouth  across  his  cheek,  and  his  strong  bill  has  a 
hook  on  the  end  which  is  useful  in  tearing  the 

79 


8o  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

flesh  from  his  victim’s  bones.  He  really  looks 
like  nothing  but  just  what  he  is — a butcher-bird. 

See  him,  quiet  and  preoccupied,  perched  on 
a telegraph  pole  on  the  lookout  for  a dinner! 
A kingbird,  or  other  flycatcher  which  chooses 
similar  perches,  would  sail  off  suddenly  into 
the  air  if  a winged  insect  hove  in  sight,  snap  it 
up,  make  an  aerial  loop  in  its  flight  and  return 
to  its  old  place.  Not  so  the  solitary,  sanguinary 
shrike.  When  his  wonderfully  keen  eyes  de- 
tect a grasshopper,  a cricket,  a big  beetle,  a 
lizard,  a little  mouse,  or  a sparrow  at  a distance 
in  a field,  he  drops  like  an  eagle  upon  the  victim, 
seizes  it  with  his  strong  beak,  and  flies  with 
steady  flapping  strokes  of  the  wings,  close  along 
the  ground,  straight  to  the  nearest  honey  locust 
or  spiny  thorn ; then  rises  with  a sudden  upward 
turn  into  the  tree  to  impale  his  prey.  Hawks, 
who  use  the  same  method  of  procuring  food, 
have  very  strong  feet ; their  talons  are  of  great 
help  in  holding  and  killing  their  victims;  but 
the  shrikes,  which  have  rather  weak,  sparrow- 
like feet,  for  perching  only,  are  really  compelled 
in  many  cases  to  make  use  of  stout  thorns  or 
sharp  twigs  to  help  them  quiet  the  struggles 
of  their  victims.  Weather-vanes,  lightning 
rods,  bare  branches,  or  the  outermost  or  top 
branches  of  tall  trees,  high  poles,  and  telegraph 
wires,  which  afford  a fine  bird’s  eye-view  of  the 
surrounding  hunting  ground,are  favourite  points 


The  Butcher-birds  or  Shrikes 


8i 


of  vantage  for  both  shrikes.  When  it  is  time 
to  husk  the  corn,  every  farmer’s  boy  must  have 
seen  a shrike  sitting  on  a fence-rail  or  hovering 
in  the  air  ready  to  seize  the  little  meadow  mice 
that  escape  from  the  shocks. 

It  is  sad  to  record  that  sometimes  shrikes  also 
sneak  upon  their  prey.  When  they  resort  to 
this  mean  method  of  securing  a dinner  they 
leave  the  high  perches  and  secrete  themselves 
in  clumps  of  bushes  in  the  open  field.  Luring 
little  birds  within  striking  distance  by  imitating 
their  call  notes,  they  pounce  upon  a terror- 
striken  sparrow  before  you  could  say  “Jack 
Robinson.”  Shrikes  seem  to  be  the  only 
creatures  that  really  rejoice  in  the  rapid  increase 
of  English  sparrows.  In  summer  they  prefer 
large  insects,  especially  grasshoppers,  but  in 
winter  when  they  can  get  none,  they  must 
have  the  fresh  meat  of  birds  or  mice.  At 
any  season  they  deserve  the  fullest  protection 
for  the  service  they  do  the  farmer.  Shrikes 
kill  only  that  they  themselves  may  live,  and  not 
for  the  sake  of  slaughter,  which  is  a so-called 
sport  reserved  for  man  alone,  who  in  any  case, 
should  be  the  last  creature  to  condemn  them. 

The  loggerhead’s  call-notes  are  harsh,  creak- 
ing, and  unpleasant,  but  at  the  approach  of  the 
nesting  season  he  proves  that  he  really  can  sing, 
although  not  half  as  well  as  his  cousin,  the 
northern  shrike,  who  astonishes  us  with  a fine 


82  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

song  some  morning  in  early  spring.  Before  we 
become  familiar  with  it,  however,  the  wander- 
ing minstrel  is  off  to  the  far  north  to  nest  within 
the  arctic  circle.  It  is  only  in  winter  that  the 
northern  shrike  visits  the  United  States,  travel- 
ling as  far  south  as  Virginia  and  Kansas  between 
October  and  April.  He  is  larger  than  the  log- 
gerhead, being  a little  over  ten  inches  long,  a 
goodlooking  winter  visitor  in  a gray  suit  with 
black  and  white  trimmings  on  his  wings  and  tail 
and  wavy  bars  on  his  breast.  Bradford  Torrey 
used  to  visit  a vireo  that  would  drink  water 
from  a teaspoon  which  he  held  out  to  her  while 
she  sat  brooding  on  her  nest.  I know  a lady 
who  fed  bits  of  raw  meat  to  a wounded  shrike 
from  the  tines  of  a fork,  the  best  substitute 
for  a thorn  she  could  find,  because  he  found  it 
awkward  to  eat  from  a dish. 


THE  CEDAR  WAXWING 

Called  also:  Cedarbird;  Cherry-bird;  Bonnet 
bird,  Silk-tail. 

So  few  birds  wear  their  head  feathers  crested 
that  it  is  a simple  matter  to  name  them  by 
their  top-knots  alone,  even  if  you  did  not  see 
the  gray  plumage  of  the  little  tufted  titmouse, 
the  dusky  hue  of  the  crested  flycatcher,  the  blue 


The  Cedar  Waxwing 


83 


of  the  jay  and  the  kingfisher,  the  red  of  the 
cardinal,  and  the  richly  shaded  grayish-brown  of 
the  cedar  waxwing,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
familiar  of  them  all.  His  neat  and  well-groomed 
plumage  is  fine  and  very  silky,  almost  dove-like 
in  colouring,  and  although  there  are  no  gaudy 
features  about  it,  few  of  our  birds  are  so  ex- 
quisitely dressed.  The  pointed  crest,  which 
rises  and  falls  to  express  every  passing  emotion, 
and  the  velvety  black  chin,  forehead,  and  line 
running  apparently  through  the  eye,  give  dis- 
tinction to  the  head.  The  tail  has  a narrow 
yellow  band  across  its  end,  and  on  the  wings  are 
the  small  red  spots  like  sealing  wax  that  are 
responsible  for  the  bird’s  queer  name.  The 
waxwing  is  larger  than  a sparrow  and  smaller 
than  a robin. 

But  it  is  difficult  to  think  of  a single  bird 
when  one  usually  sees  a flock.  Sociable  to  a 
degree,  the  waxwings  rove  about  a neighbour- 
hood in  scattered  companies,  large  and  small, 
to  feed  on  the  cedar  or  juniper  berries,  choke- 
cherries,  dog-wood  and  woodbine  berries,  elder, 
haw,  and  other  small  wild  fruits  on  which  they 
feed  very  greedily ; then  move  on  to  some  other 
place  where  their  favourite  fruit  abounds. 
Happily,  they  care  very  little  about  our  culti- 
vated fruit  and  rarely  touch  it.  A good  way 
to  invite  many  kinds  of  birds  to  visit  one’s 
neighbourhood  is  to  plant  plenty  of  berry- 


84  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

bearing  trees  and  shrubs.  The  birds  themselves 
plant  most  of  the  wild  ones,  by  dropping  the 
undigested  berry  seeds  far  and  wide.  How 
could  the  seeds  of  many  species  be  distributed 
over  thousands  of  miles  of  land  without  their 
help?  If  will  surprise  you  to  count  the  number 
of  trees  about  your  home  that  have  been 
planted,  quite  unconsciously,  by  birds  many 
years  before  you  were  born.  Cedarbirds  are 
responsible  for  no  small  part  of  the  beauty  of 
the  lanes  and  hedgerows  throughout  their  wide 
range  from  sea  to  sea  and  from  Canada  to 
Mexico  and  Central  America.  Nature,  you  see, 
makes  her  creatures  work  for  her,  whether 
they  know  they  are  helping  her  plans  or  not. 

When  a flock  of  cedarbirds  enters  your 
neighbourhood,  there  is  no  noisy  warning  of 
their  coming.  Gentle,  refined  in  manners, 
courteous  to  one  another,  almost  silent  visitors, 
they  will  sit  for  hours  nearly  motionless  in  a 
tree  while  digesting  a recent  feast.  An  occa- 
sional bird  may  shift  his  position,  then,  politely 
settling  himself  again  without  disturbing  the 
rest  of  the  company,  remain  quiet  as  before. 
Lisping,  Twee-twee-zee  call  notes,  like  a hushed 
whispered  whistle,  are  the  only  sounds  the 
visitors  make.  How  different  from  a roving 
flock  of  screaming,  boisterous  blue  jays! 

When  rising  to  take  wing,  the  squad  still 
keeps  together,  flying  evenly  and  swiftly  in 


The  cedar  waxwing 


TJie  ^(or^cous  scarlet  tanaj^jer  who  sang  in  this  tree  was  killed 
by  a sling-shot.  The  nest  was  deserted  by  his  terrified 
mate 


The  Cedar  Waxwing 


85 


close  ranks  on  a level  with  the  tree-tops  along 
a straight  course;  or,  wheeling  suddenly,  the 
birds  dive  downward  into  a promising,  leafy, 
restaurant.  Enormous  numbers  of  insects  are 
consumed  by  a flock.  The  elm-beetle,  which 
destroys  the  beauty,  if  not  the  life,  of  some  of 
our  finest  shade  trees,  would  be  exterminated 
if  there  were  cedarbirds  enough.  One  flock 
within  a week  rid  a New  England  village  of 
this  pest  that  had  eaten  the  leaves  on  the  double 
row  of  elms  which  had  been  the  glory  of  its 
broad  main  street  for  over  a hundred  years. 
When  you  see  these  birds  in  an  orchard,  look 
for  better  apples  there  next  year.  Canker- 
worms  are  a bon  houcke  to  them ; so  are.  grubs 
and  caterpillars,  especially  cutworms. 

Sometime  after  all  the:  other  birds,  except 
the  tardy  httle  goldfinch,  have  nested,,  the 
waxwings  give  up  the  flocking  habit  and  live 
in  pairs.  Toward  the  end  of  June,  when  many 
birds  are  rearing  the  second  brood,  you  may  see 
a couple  begin  to  carry  grass,  shreds  of  bark, 
twine,  fine  roots,  catkins,  moss  or  rags — any 
or  all  of  these  building  materials — ^to  some  tree, 
usually  a fruit  tree  or  a cedar ; and  then,  if  you 
watch  carefully,  you  will  find  what  is  not  al- 
ways the  case  with  humans — ^the  birds’  manners 
at  home  are  even  better  than  when  moving  in 
society  abroad.  The  devoted  male  brings 
dainties  to  his  brooding  mate  and  helps  her  feed 


86 


Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 


their  family.  Moreover,  cedarbirds  are  very 
good  to  feathered  orphans. 


THE  SCARLET  TANAGER 
Called  also:  Black-winged  Redbird 

People  who  are  now  living  can  remember 
when  scarlet  tanagers  were  as  common  as  robins. 
Where  are  they  now?  You  see  a redbird  at 
the  north  so  rarely  that  a thrill  of  excitement  is 
felt  when  a flash  of  scarlet  among  the  tree-tops 
makes  the  day  a red-letter  one  on  your  bird 
calendar.  Alas!  He  has,  what  has  certainly 
proved  to  be,  the  fatal  gift  of  beauty.  A 
scarlet  coat  with  black  wings  and  tail,  worn  by 
a bird  larger  than  a sparrow,  makes  a shining 
mark  among  the  foliage  for  the  shot  gun  and 
sling  shot.  Thousands  of  tanagers  have  been 
slaughtered  to  be  worn  on  the  unthinking  heads 
of  vain  girls  and  women.  Many  are  killed 
every  year,  during  the  spring  and  autumn 
migrations,  by  flying  against  the  great  light- 
houses along  our  coasts,  the  birds’  highway 
of  travel.  Tanagers,  who  are  only  summer 
visitors  from  the  tropics,  are  peculiarly  suscepti- 
ble to  cold;  a sudden  change  in  the  weather, 
a drop  in  the  thermometer  some  time  in  May 
just  after  they  have  come  here  from  a warmer 


The  Scarlet  Tanager 


87 


climate  and  are  still  especially  sensitive,  will 
kill  off  great  numbers  in  the  north  woods  and 
in  Canada.  They  really  should  postpone  their 
journey  a little  while  until  the  weather  becomes 
settled  and  there  are  fewer  fogs  on  the  coast. 

The  male  tanager,  in  his  wedding  garment,  is 
sometimes  mistaken  for  a cardinal  by  people 
who  only  half  see  any  object  they  look  at. 
Bird  study  sharpens  the  sight  wonderfully,  and 
teaches  boys  and  girls  the  importance  of  accur- 
rate  observation.  The  cardinal,  a larger  bird, 
is  almost  as  large  as  a robin ; he  is  a rich,  deep 
red  all  over,  and  not  a scarlet  shade.  Moreover 
he  wears  a pointed  crest  by  which  you  may  al- 
ways know  him,  while  the  tanager,  whose  head 
is  smooth,  may  be  certainly  named  by  his  black 
wings  and  tail.  After  the  nesting  season,  the 
tanager  begins  to  moult  and  then  he  is  a queer 
looking  object  indeed  in  his  motley  coat.  Only 
little  patches  and  streaks  of  scarlet  remain  here 
and  there  among  the  olive  green  feathers  that 
gradually  replace  the  red  ones  until,  in  winter, 
he  becomes  completely  transformed  into  an 
olive  bird  with  black  wings,  looking  like  his 
immature  sons.  How  tiresome  to  have  to 
change  his  feathers  again  toward  spring  before 
he  can  hope  to  woo  and  win  a mate! 

The  exacting  little  lady  bird,  who  demands 
such  fine  feathers,  is  herself  quietly  clad  in  light 
olive  green  with  a more  yellowish  tinge  on  her 


88  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

lighter  breast  that  she  may  be  in  perfect  colour 
harmony  with  the  leaves  she  lives  and  nests 
among.  If  she,  too,  wore  scarlet,  I fear  the 
tanager  tribe  would  have  disappeared  years 
ago.  Happily  her  protective  colouring,  which 
betrays  no  nest  secrets,  has  saved  the  species. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  birds,  who  spend  the 
rest  of  their  lives  among  the  tree-tops,  hunting 
among  the  foliage  for  insects  and  small  fruit, 
should  nest  so  low  ? Sometimes  they  place 
their  cradle  on  a limb  only  six  feet  from  the 
-ground.  It  is  a rather  shabby,  poorly  made 
affair  which  very  lively  tanager  youngster  might 
easily  tumble  apart.  *‘Chip — churr”  calls  the 
gorgeous  father  from  the  tree  top,  and  a re- 
assuring reply  that  all  is  well  with  the  nest 
floats  up  to  him  from  his  mate.  He  does  not 
often  risk  its  safety  by  showing  himself  near 
the  nest,  securely  hidden  by  the  foliage  below. 
If,  toward  the  end  of  May,  you  hear  him  singing 
iiis  real  song,  which  is  somewhat  like  an  oriole’s 
mellow,  cheery  carol,  you  may  be  sure  he  is 
planning  to  spend  the  summer  in  your  neigh- 
bourhood. Not  many  miles  from  New  York 
there  is  a house  built  on  the  top  of  a hill,  whose 
■sides  are  'covered  with  oak  and  chestnut  woods, 
where  one  may  be  sure  to  see  tanagers  among 
the  tree  tops  from  any  window  at  any  hour  of 
any  day  from  May  to  October.  Several  nests 
in  those  woods  are  saddled  on  to  the  horizontal 


The  Scarlet  Tanager 


89 


limbs  of  the  white  oak.  Not  many  people  are 
blessed  with  such  beautiful,  interesting  neigh- 
bours. 

In  the  Southern  States,  one  of  the  most  fa- 
miliar birds  in  the  orange  groves,  orchards,  and 
woods  of  pine  and  oak,  is  the  summer  tanager, 
another  smooth-headed  redbird,  but  without  a 
black  feather  on  him.  He  is  fire  red  all  over. 
Of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  species  of  tana- 
gers  in  the  tropics,  only  two  think  it  worth 
while  to  visit  the  Eastern  United  States  and  one 
of  these  frequently  suffers  because  he  starts  too 
early.  Suppose  all  should  suddenly  decide  to 
come  north  some  spring  and  spend  the  summer 
with  us ! Our  woods  would  be  filled  with  some 
of  the  most  brilliant  and  gorgeous  birds  in  the 
world.  Don’t  you  wish  all  the  members  of  the 
family  were  as  adventurous  as  the  scarlet 
tanager? 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  SWALLOWS 

Purple  Martin 
Barn  Swallow 
Cliff  Swallow 
Bank  Swallow 
Tree  Swallow 


THE  SWALLOWS 


IF  YOU  were  a bird,  could  you  think  of 
any  way  of  earning  a living  more  delightful 
than  sailing  about  in  the  air  all  day,  playing 
cross-tag  on  the  wing  with  your  companions, 
skimming  low  across  the  meadows,  ponds  and 
xaarshes,  or  rising  high  above  them  and  darting 
hither  and  thither  wherever  you  pleased,  with- 
out knowing  what  it  means  to  feel  tired?  Swal- 
lows are  as  much  in  their  element  when  in  the 
air  as  fish  are  in  water ; but  don’t  imagine  they 
are  there  simply  for  fun.  Their  long,  blade- 
like wings,  whnh  cut  the  air  with  such  easy, 
but  powerful  strokes,  propel  them  enormous 
distances  before  they  have  collected  enough 
mosquitoes,  gnats  and  other  little  gauzy- 
winged insects  to  supply  such  great  energy  and 
satisfy  their  hunger.  With  mouth  widely 
gaping,  leaving  an  opening  in  the  front  of  their 
broad  heads  that  stretches  from  ear  to  ear,  they 
get  a tremendous  draught  down  their  little 
throats,  but  they  gather  in  a dinner  piece-meal 
just  as  the  chimney  swift,  whip-poor-will  and 
night-hawk  do.  Viscid  saliva  in  the  bird’s 
mouth  glues  the  Httle  victims  as  fast  as  if  they 
were  caught  on  sticky  fly-paper;  then,  when 

93 


94  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

enough  have  been  trapped  to  make  a pellet,  the 
swallow  swallows  them  in  a ball,  although 
one  swallow  does  not  make  a dinner,  any  more 
than  one  swallow  makes  a summer. 

These  sociable  birds  delight  to  live  in  com- 
panies, even  during  the  nesting  season  when 
most  feathered  couples,  however  glad  to  flock 
at  other  times,  prefer  to  be  alone.  As  soon  as 
the  young  birds  can  take  wing,  one  family 
party  unites  with  another,  one  colony  with 
another,  until  often  enormous  numbers  assemble 
in  the  marshes  in  August  and  September.  You 
see  them  strung  like  beads  along  the  telegraph 
wires,  perched  on  the  fences,  circling  over  the 
meadows  and  ponds,  zigzagging  across  the 
sky.  Millions  of  swallows  have  been  noted  in 
some  of  these  autumnal  flocks.  Usually  they 
go  to  sleep  among  the  reeds  and  grasses  in  a 
favourite  marsh  where  the  bands  return  year 
after  year ; but  some  prefer  trees.  Comparatively 
little  perching  is  done  except  at  night,  for  swal- 
lows’ feet  are  very  small  and  weak. 

At  sunrise,  the  birds  scatter  in  small  bands 
to  pick  up  on  the  wing  the  long  continued  meal, 
which  lasts  till  late  in  the  afternoon.  Those 
who  have  gone  too  far  abroad  and  must  travel 
back  to  the  roost  after  sundown  shoot  across 
the  sky  with  incredible  swiftness  lest  darkness 
overtake  them.  Relying  upon  their  speed  of 
flight  to  carry  them  beyond  the  reach  of  en- 


The  Purple  Martin 


95 


emies,  they  migrate  boldly  by  daylight  instead 
■of  at  night  as  the  timid  little  vireos  and  warblers 
do.  During  every  day  the  swallows  are  with 
us  they  must  consume  billions  and  trillions  of 
blood-sucking  insects  that  would  pester  other 
animals  beside  ourselves.  Think  of  the  mos- 
quito bites  alone  that  they  prevent!  Every 
one  of  us  is  greatly  in  their  debt. 

Male  and  female  swallows  are  dressed  so 
nearly  alike  that  you  can  scarcely  tell  one  from 
the  other.  Both  twitter  merrily  but  neither 
really  sings. 


THE  PURPLE  MARTIN 

There  is  a picturesque  old  inn  beside  a post 
road  in  New  Jersey  with  a five-storied  mar- 
tin house  set  up  on  a pole  above  its  quaint 
swinging  sign.  For  over  thirty  years  a record 
was  kept  on  the  pole  showing  the  dates  of  the 
coming  and  going  of  the  martins  in  April  and 
September,  which  did  not  vary  by  more  than 
two  or  three  days  during  all  that  time.  The 
inn-keeper  locked  up  in  his  safe  every  night  the 
registers  on  which  were  entered  the  arrivals 
and  departures  of  his  human  guests,  but  he 
valued  far  more  the  record  of  his  bird  visitors 
which  interested  everybody  who  stopped  at  his 
inn. 


g6  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

One  day,  while  he  was  away,  a man  who 
was  painting  a fence  for  him  thought  he  would 
surprise  him  by  freshening  up  the  old,  weather- 
beaten pole.  Alas!  He  painted  over  every 
precious  mark.  You  may  be  sure  the  surprise 
recoiled  upon  him  like  a boomerang  when  the 
wrathful  inn-keeper  returned.  However,  the 
martins  continue  to  come  back  to  their  old 
home  year  after  year  and  rear  their  broods  on 
little  heaps  of  leaves  in  every  room  in  the  house, 
which  is  the  cheerful  fact  of  the  story. 

These  glossy,  blue-black  iridescent  swallows^ 
grayish  white  underneath,  the  largest  of  their 
graceful  tribe,  have  always  been  great  favourites. 
Even  the  Indians  in  the  Southern  States  used  to 
hang  gourds  for  them  to  nest  in  about  their 
camps — a practice  continued  by  the  Negroes 
around  their  cabins  to  this  day.  Strangely 
enough  these  birds  which  nested  and  slept  in 
hollow  trees  before  the  coming  of  the  white 
men,  were  among  the  first  to  take  advantage 
of  his  presence.  Now,  in  the  Eastern  United 
States,  at  least,  the  pampered  darUngs  of 
luxury  positively  refuse  to  live  where  people 
do  not  put  up  houses  for  their  comfort.  In 
the  sparsely  settled  West,  however,  they  still 
condescend  to  live  in  trees,  but  only  when  they 
must,  like  the  chimney-swifts,  who,  by  the  way 
are  no  relation.  Plenty  of  people  persist  in 
calling  them  chimney  swallows,  which  is  pre- 


Young  barn  swallows  cradled  under  the  rafters 


Baby  barn  swallows  learning  to  walk  a plank 


The  Purple  Martin 


97 


cisely  what  they  are  not.  Not  even  the  little 
house  wren  has  adapted  itself  so  quickly  to 
civilised  men’s  homes,  as  the  swift  and  purple 
martin. 

Intelligent  people,  who  are  only  just  begin- 
ning to  realise  what  birds  do  for  us  and  how 
very  much  more  they  might  be  induced  to  do, 
are  putting  up  boxes  for  the  martins,  not  only 
near  their  own  houses,  that  the  birds  may  rid  the 
air  of  mosquitoes,  but  in  their  gardens  and 
orchards  that  incalculable  numbers  of  injurious 
pests  in  the  winged  stage  may  be  destroyed. 
When  martins  return  to  us  in  spring  from 
Central  and  South  America,  where  they  have 
passed  the  winter,  insects  are  just  beginning  to 
fly,  and  if  they  can  be  captured  then,  before 
they  have  a chance  to  lay  their  eggs,  you  see 
how  much  trouble  and  money  are  saved  for  the 
farmers  by  their  tireless  allies,  the  swallows. 
Unfortunately,  purple  martins  are  not  so  com- 
mon at  the  North  as  they  were  before  the  coming 
of  those  saucy  little  immigrants,  the  English 
sparrows,  who  take  possession,  by  fair  means 
or  by  foul,  of  every  house  that  they  can  find. 
In  the  South,  where  the  martins  are  still  very 
numerous,  a peach  grower  I know  has  set  up 
in  his  orchard  rows  of  poles,  with  a house  on 
each,  either  for  them  or  for  bluebirds.  He 
says  these  bird  partners  are  of  inestimable  value 
m keeping  his  fruit  trees  free  from  insects. 


98  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

The  curculio,  one  of  the  worst  enemies  every 
fruit  grower  has  to  fight,  destroying  as  it  does 
millions  of  dollars  worth  of  crops  every  year, 
is  practically  unknown  in  that  Georgia  planter’s 
orchard.  Some  day  farmers  all  over  the 
United  States  will  wake  up  and  copy  his  good 
idea. 

A colony  of  martins  circling  about  a house 
give  it  a delightful  home-like  air.  Their  very 
soft,  sweet  conversation  with  one  another 
as  they  fly,  sounds  like  rippling,  musical 
laughter. 


THE  BARN  SWALLOW 

Do  you  know  where  there  is  an  old-fashioned, 
weather-worn  barn,  with  its  hospitable  doors 
standing  open,  where  you  could  not  find  at 
least  one  pair  of  bam  swallows  at  home  beneath 
its  roof?  These  birds,  you  will  notice,  prefer 
dilapidated  old  farm  buildings,  whose  doors  are 
off  their  hinges,  and  whose  loose  shingles  or 
broken  clapboards  offer  plenty  of  entrances 
and  exits.  If  you  like  to  play  around  a bam 
as  well  as  every  child  I know,  you  must  be 
already  acquainted  with  the  exquisite,  dark 
steel-blue  swallows  with  glistening  reddish  buff 
breasts,  and  deeply  forked  tails,  that  dart  and 
glide  in  and  out  of  the  openings,  merrily  twitter- 
ing as  they  fly.  While  you  tumble  about  in  the 


The  Barn  Swallow 


9^ 


hay  among  the  rafters  the  swallows  go  and 
come,  so  that,  quite  unconsciously,  you  will 
associate  them  with  happy  hours  as  long  as  you 
live. 

High  up  on  some  beam,  too  high  for  the 
children  to  reach,  let  us  hope,  a pair  of  barn 
swallows  will  plaster  their  mud  cradle.  Did 
you  ever  see  them  gathering  pellets  of  wet  soil 
in  their  bills  at  some  roadside  puddle?  It  is, 
perliaps,  the  only  time  you  can  ever  catch  them 
with  their  feet  on  the  earth.  Each  mud  pill 
must  be  carried  to  the  barn  and  fastened  on  to 
the  rafter.  Countless  trips  are  made  to  the 
puddle  before  a sufficient  number  of  pellets 
are  worked  into  the  deep  mud  walls  of  the  ample 
nursery.  Usually  grass  is  mixed  with  the  mud„ 
but  gome  swallows  make  their  bricks  without, 
straw.  A lining  of  fine  hay  and  plenty  of 
feathers  from  the  chicken  yard  seem  to  be 
essential  for  their  comfort,  which  is  a pity,  be- 
cause almost  always  chicken  feathers  are 
infested  with  lice,  and  lice  kill  more  young  birds 
than  we  like  to  think  about.  When  there  is  a 
nestful  of  fledglings  to  feed,  sticky  little  pellets 
of  insects,  caught  on  the  wing,  are  carried  to 
them  by  both  parents  from  daylight  to  dusk.. 
Do  notice  how  tirelessly  they  work! 

In  a family  famous  for  graceful,  rapid  flight, 
the  bam  swallow  easily  excels  all  his  relations. 
The  deep  fork  in  his  tail  enables  him  to  steer 


loo  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

himself  with  those  marvellously  quick,  erratic 
turns,  which  make  his  course  through  the  air 
resemble  forked  lightning.  But  with  what 
exquisite  grace  he  can  also  glide  and  skim  across 
the  water,  fields  and  meadows  without  an 
apparent  movement  of  the  wing!  His  flight 
seems  the  very  poetry  of  motion.  The  ease 
of  it  accounts  for  the  very  wide  distribution 
of  bam  swallows  from  southern  Brazil  in  win- 
ter to  Greenland  and  Alaska  in  summer.  What 
a journey  to  take  twice  a year ! 

THE  EAVE  OR  CLIFF  SWALLOW 

More  than  any  other  bird  family,  the  swal- 
lows are  becoming  increasingly  dependent  for 
shelter  upon  man,  at  least  when  they  are  nest- 
ing; and  as  this  is  the  season  when  they  are 
most  valuable  to  him  because  of  the  enormous 
numbers  of  insects  they  prevent  from  multi- 
plying, let  us  hope  that  familiarity  with  us 
will  never  breed  contempt  and  cause  them  to 
return  to  their  old,  uncivilised  building  sites. 
In  the  sparsely  settled  West,  the  cliff  swallow 
still  fastens  its  queer,  gourd-shaped,  mud  nest 
against  projecting  rocks,  but  in  the  East  it  is 
so  quick  to  take  advantage  of  the  eaves  of  the 
bams  and  other  out-buildings,  that  its  old  name 
does  not  apply,  and  we  know  it  here  only  as  an 
eave  swallow. 


The  Bank  Swallow 


lOI 


The  barn  swallow,  as  we  have  seen,  chooses 
to  nest  upon  the  rafters  inside  the  bam,  but  the 
eave  swallow  is  content  to  stay  outside  under 
the  shelter  of  a projecting  roof.  In  such  a place 
you  find  not  one,  but  several  or  many  mud 
tenements  plastered  in  a row  against  the  wall, 
for  eave  swallows  are  always  remarkably  so- 
ciable, even  at  the  nesting  season.  A photo- 
graph of  a colony  I have  seen  shows  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  nests  nearly  all  of  which  touch  one 
another. 

Although  so  often  noticed  circling  about 
barns,  you  may  know  by  the  rusty  patch  on  the 
lower  part  of  his  steel-blue  back,  the  crescent- 
shaped white  mark  on  his  forehead,  and  the 
notched,  not  deeply  forked  tail,  that  the  eave 
swallow  is  not  the  barn  swallow,  which  it  other- 
wise resembles. 

THE  BANK  SWALLOW 
Called  also:  Sand  Martin;  Sand  Swallow 

Perhaps  you  have  seen  a sand  bank  some- 
where, probably  near  a river  or  pond,  where 
the  side  of  the  bank  was  filled  with  holes  as  if 
a small  cannon  had  been  trained  against  it  as 
a target.  In  and  out  of  the  holes  fly  the 
smallest  of  the  swallows,  with  no  lovely  me- 
tallic blue  or  glistening  buff  in  their  dull  plum- 


102  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

age,  which  is  plain  brownish  gray  above,  white 
underneath,  with  a grayish  band  across  the 
breast.  Only  their  cousin,  the  rough-winged 
swallow,  whose  breast  is  brownish  gray,  is  so 
plainly  dressed. 

The  giggling  twitter  of  the  bank  swallows  as 
they  wheel  and  dart  through  the  air  above  you, 
proves  that  they  are  never  too  busy  hunting 
for  a dinner  to  speak  a cheerful  word  to  their 
friends.  Year  after  year  a colony  will  return  to 
a favourite  bank,  whose  face  has  been  honey- 
combed with  such  care.  Think  of  the  labour 
and  patience  required  for  so  small  a bird  to  dig 
a tunnel  two  feet  deep,  more  or  less!  Some 
nests  have  been  placed  as  far  as  four  feet  from 
the  entrance.  You  are  not  surprised  at  the  big 
kingfisher,  who  also  tunnels  a hole  in  a bank  for 
his  family,  because  his  long,  strong  bill  makes 
digging  comparatively  easy ; but  for  the  small- 
billed, weak-footed  swallow,  the  work  must  be 
difficult  indeed.  What  a pity  they  cannot  hire 
moles  to  make  the  tunnels  with  their  strong, 
flat,  spade-like  feet.  No  wonder  the  birds  be- 
come attached  to  the  tunnels  that  have  cost  so 
much  labour.  When  there  are  no  longer  any 
baby  swallows  on  the  heaps  of  twigs,  grass  and 
feathers  at  the  end  of  them,  the  birds  use  them 
as  resting  places  by  day  as  well  as  by  night  until 
it  is  time  to  gather  in  vast  flocks  and  speed  away 
to  the  tropics. 


The  Tree  Swallow 


103 

THE  TREE  SWALLOW 
Called  also:  White-breasted  Swallow 

Probably  this  is  the  most  abundant  swallow 
that  Ave  have;  certainly  countless  numbers 
assemble  every  year  in  the  Long  Island  and 
Jersey  marshes,  perch  on  the  telegraph  wires 
and  skim,  with  much  circling,  above  the  mead- 
ows and  streams  in  a perfect  ecstasy  of  flight. 
At  a little  distance  the  bird  appears  to  be  black 
above  and  white  below,  but  as  he  suddenly 
wheels  past,  you  see  that  his  coat  is  a lustrous 
dark  steel  green.  Immature  birds  are  brownish 
g^ay.  All  have  white  breasts. 

As  the  tree  swallows  are  the  only  members 
of  their  family  who  spend  the  winter  in  the 
Southeastern  United  States,  they  can  easily 
arrive  at  the  North  some  time  before  their  rela- 
tives from  the  tropics  overtake  them.  And  they 
are  the  last  to  leave.  Myriads  remain  in  the 
vicinity  of  New  York  until  the  middle  of  Octo- 
ber. There  is  plenty  of  time  to  rear  two  broods, 
which  accounts  for  the  great  size  of  the  flocks. 
By  the  Fourth  of  July  the  young  of  the  first 
broods  are  off  hunting  for  little  gauzy-winged 
insects  over  the  low  lands ; and  about  a month 
later  the  parents  join  their  flock,  bringing  with 
them  more  youngsters  than  you  could  count. 
They  sleep  every  night  in  the  marshes,  cling- 
ing to  the  reeds. 


104  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Like  the  cliff  swallow,  the  tree  swallow  is 
fast  losing  the  right  to  its  name.  It  takes 
so  kindly  to  the  boxes  we  set  up  for  martins, 
bluebirds  and  wrens  that,  where  sparrows  do 
not  interfere,  it  now  prefers  them  to  the  hollow 
trees,  which  once  were  its  only  shelter.  But 
some  tree  swallows  still  cling  to  old-fashioned 
ways  and  at  least  rest  in  hollow  trees  and 
stumps,  even  if  they  do  not  nest  in  them. 
Some  day  they  may  become  as  dependent  upon 
us  as  the  martins  and,  like  them,  refuse  to  nest 
where  boxes  are  not  provided. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  SPARROW  TRIBE 

Song  Sparrow 
Swamp  Sparrow 
Field  Sparrow 
Vesper  Sparrow 
English  Sparrow 
Chipping  Sparrow 
Tree  Sparrow 
White-throated  Sparrow 
Fox  Sparrow 

JUNCO 
Snowflake 
. Goldfinch 
Purple  Finch 
Indigo  Bunting 
Towhee 

Rose-breasted  Grosbeak 
Cardinal  Grosbeak 


/ 


I 


■k..J 


THE  SPARROW  TRIBE 


T IKE  the  poor,  the  sparrows  are  always 
with  us.  There  is  not  a day  in  the  year 
when  you  cannot  find  at  least  one  member  of 
the  great  tribe  which  comprises  one-seventh 
of  aU  our  birds — by  far  the  largest  North  Amer- 
ican family.  What  is  the  secret  of  their 
triumphant  numbers? 

Many  members  of  the  hardy,  prolific  clan, 
wearing  dull  brown  and  gray -streaked  feathers, 
in  perfect  colour  harmony  with  the  grassy,  bushy 
places  or  dusty  roadsides  where  they  live,  are 
usually  overlooked  by  enemies  in  search  of  a 
dinner.  U ndoubtedly  their  protective  colouring 
has  much  to  do  with  their  increase.  They 
are  small  birds  mostly,  not  one  so  large  as  a 
robin. 

Sparrows  being  seed  eaters  chiefly,  although 
none  of  the  tribe  refuses  insect  meat  in  season, 
and  all  give  it  to  their  nestlings,  there  is  never 
a time  when  they  cannot  find  food,  even  at  the 
frozen  North  where  some  weedy  stalks  project 
above  the  snow.  They  are  not  fastidious. 
Fussy  birds,  like  fussy  people,  have  a hard  time 
in  this  world ; but  the  whole  sparrow  tribe,  with 
few  exceptions,  make  the  best  of  things  as  they 


io8  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

find  them  and  readily  adapt  themselves  to 
whatever  conditions  they  meet.  How  wonder- 
fully that  saucy  little  gamin,  the  English  spar- 
row, has  adjusted  himself  to  this  new  land! 

Members  of  the  more  aristocratic  finch  and 
grosbeak  branches  of  the  family,  however,  who 
wear  brighter  clothes,  pay  the  penalty  by  de- 
creasing numbers  as  our  boasted  civilisation 
surrounds  them.  Gay  feathers  afford  a shining 
mark.  Naturally  grosbeaks  prefer  to  live 
among  protective  trees.  They  are  delightful 
singers,  and  so,  indeed,  are  some  of  their  plain 
little  sparrow  cousins. 

All  the  members  of  the  family  have  strong, 
conical  bills  well  suited  to  crush  seeds,  and 
gizzards,  like  a chicken’s,  to  grind  them  fine. 
These  little  grist-mills  within  the  birds’  bodies 
extract  all  the  nourishment  there  is  from  the 
seed.  The  sparrow  tribe,  you  will  notice,  do 
immense  service  by  destroying  the  seeds  of 
weeds,  which,  but  for  them,  would  quickly 
overrun  the  farmer’s  fields  and  choke  his  crops. 
Because  these  hardy  gleaners  can  pick  up  a 
living  almost  anywhere,  they  do  not  need  to 
make  very  long  journeys  every  spring  and  au- 
tumn. Their  migrations  are  comparatively 
short  when  undertaken  at  all.  As  a rule  their 
flight  is  laboured,  slow,  and  rather  heavy — ^just 
the  opposite  from  the  wonderfully  swift  and 
graceful  flight  of  the  swallows. 


The  Song  Sparrow  109 

THE  SONG  SPARROW 

This  is  most  children’s  favourite  bird : is  it 
yours?  Although  by  no  means  the  belle  of  the 
family,  the  song  sparrow  is  beloved  throughout 
its  vast  range  if  for  no  other  reason  than  be- 
cause it  is  irrepressibly  cheerful.  Good  spirits 
are  contagious : every  one  feels  better  for  having 
a neighbour  always  in  a good  humour.  Most 
birds  mope  when  it  rains,  or  when  they  shed 
their  feathers,  or  when  the  weather  is  cold  and 
dreary,  or  when  something  doesn’t  please  them, 
and  cultivate  their  voices  only  when  they  fall 
in  love  in  the  happy  spring-time.  But  you 
may  bear  the  hardy,  healthful  song  sparrow’s 
“ merry  cheer  ” almost  every  month  in  the  year, 
in  fair  weather  or  in  foul,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  and  in  broad  daylight,  when  a little  mate 
is  to  be  wooed  with  light-hearted  vivacity, 
when  two,  three,  or  even  four  broods  severely 
tax  the  singer’s  energy  through  the  summer, 
when  clothes  must  be  changed  in  August 
and  when  the  cold  of  approaching  winter  drives 
every  other  singer  from  the  choir.  The  most 
familiar  song— for  this  tuneful  sparrow  has  at 
least  six  similar  but  slightly  different  melodies 
in  his  repertoire — begins  with  a full  round  note 
three  times  repeated,  then  dashes  off  into  a 
sweet,  short,  lively,  intricate  strain  that  almost 
trips  itself  in  its  hasty  utterance.  Few  people 


no  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Kncnt 

whistle  well  enough  to  imitate  it.  Few  birds 
can  rival  the  musical  ecstacy. 

Artlessly  self-confident,  not  at  all  bashful, 
the  song  sparrow  mounts  to  a conspicuous 
perch  when  he  sings,  rather  than  let  his  efforts 
be  muffled  by  foliage.  Don’t  mistake  him  for 
an  English  sparrow;  notice  his  distinguishing 
marks ; the  fine  dark  streaks  on  his  light  breast 
tend  to  form  a larger  blotch  in  the  centre.  You 
see  him  singing  on  the  extended  branch  of  some 
low  tree,  on  the  topmost  twig  of  a bush,  on 
a fence,  or  a piazza  railing  from  which  he  dives 
downward  into  the  grass,  or  flies  straight  along 
into  the  bushes,  his  tail  working  like  a pump 
handle  as  if  to  help  his  flight.  Very  rarely  he 
flies  upward.  Diving  into  a bush  is  one  of  his 
specialties.  He  best  likes  to  live  in  regions 
near  water. 

The  song  sparrows  that  come  almost  every 
day  in  the  year  among  many  other  birds  to  my 
piazza  roof  for  waste  canary  seed  and  such 
delicacies,  show  refreshing  spirit  in  driving 
off  the  English  sparrows  who,  let  it  be  recorded, 
can  get  not  a morsel  until  the  song  sparrows  are 
abundantly  satisfied.  One  of  the  latter  is  quite 
able  to  keep  off  half  a dozen  of  his  English 
cousins.  How  does  he  do  it?  Not  by  his 
superior  size,  for  the  measurements  of  both 
birds  show  that  they  are  about  the  same  length 
although  the  song  sparrow’s  slightly  longer  and 


Swamp  Sparrou 


lit 


more  graceful  tail  makes  him  appear  a trifle 
larger.  Certainly  not  by  any  rowdy,  bold 
assaults,  which  are  the  English  bird’s  specialty. 
But  by  simply  assuming  superiority  and  expres- 
sing it  only  by  running  in  a threatening  attitude 
toward  each  English  sparrow  who  dares  to 
alight  on  the  roof,  does  he  bluff  him  into  flying 
away  again!  There  is  never  a fight,  not  even 
an  ill-mannered  scolding,  just  quiet  monopoly 
for  a few  minutes,  then  a joyous  outburst  of 
song.  After  that  the  English  sparrows  may 
take  the  songster’s  leavings. 


SWAMP  SPARROW 

Where  rails  thread  their  way  among  the 
rushes,  and  red-winged  blackbirds,  marsh  wrens, 
and  Maryland  yellow-throats  like  to  live,  there 
listen  for  the  tweet-tweet-tweet  of  the  swamp 
sparrow.  It  is  a sweet  but  rather  monotonous 
little  song  that  he  repeats  over  and  over  again 
to  the  mate  who  is  busy  about  her  grassy  nest 
in  a tussock  not  far  away,  but  well  hidden 
among  the  rank  swamp  growth. 

Some  children  say  it  is  difficult  to  tell  the 
plain  gray-breasted  swamp  sparrow  from  the 
larger  song  sparrow  with  the,  streaked  breast ; 
but  I am  sure  their  eyes  are  not  so  sharp  as 
yours. 


II2  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 
FIELD  SPARROW 

While  the  neighbourly  song  sparrow  and  the 
swamp  sparrow  delight  to  be  near  water,  the 
field  sparrow  chooses  to  live  in  dry  uplands 
where  stunted  bushes  and  cedars  cover  the  hills 
and  overgrown  old  fields,  and  towhees  and 
brown  thrashers  keep  him  company.  He  is 
not  fond  of  human  society,  however,  and  usually 
flies  away  with  wavering,  uncertain  flight  from 
bush  to  bush  rather  than  submit  to  a close 
scrutiny  of  his  bright  chestnut  brown  back  and 
crown,  flesh-coloured  bill,  gray  eyebrow,  grayish 
throat,  buffy  breast  and  light  feet.  Because 
his  tail  is  a trifle  longer  than  the  chippy’s  he  is 
slightly  larger  than  the  smallest  of  our  sparrows. 
Unless  you  notice  that  his  bill  is  not  black  and 
his  head  not  marked  with  black  and  gray 
streaks  like  the  chippy’s,  you  might  easily 
mistake  him  for  his  sociable,  confiding  little 
cousin  who  comes  hopping  to  the  door. 

How  differently  he  sings!  Listen  for  him 
some  evening  after  sunset  when  his  simple  ves- 
per hymn,  clear,  plaintive,  sweet,  rings  from  the 
bush  where  he  perches  especially  for  the  perform- 
ance. Scarcely  any  two  field  sparrows  sing  pre- 
cisely alike.  Most  of  them,  however,  begin  with 
three  clear,  smooth,  leisurely  whistles — cher- 
wee,  cher-wee,  cher-wee-^then  hurry  through 
the  other  notes — cheo,  cheo-dee-dee-eee,  e,  e—~ 


Vesper  Sparrow 


113 

which  run  rapidly  into  a trill  before  they  die 
away.  Others  reverse  the  time  and  diminish 
the  measures  toward  the  close.  However  sung, 
the  song,  which  makes  the  uplands  tuneful  all 
day  and  every  day  from  April  to  August,  does 
not  vary  its  quality,  which  is  as  fine  as  the 
vesper  sparrow’s. 

Hatched  in  a bush,  and  almost  never  seen 
apart  from  one,  this  humble  little  bird  might 
well  be  called  the  bush  sparrow. 


VESPER  SPARROW 

To  name  this  little  dingy  sparrow  that  haunts 
the  open  fields  and  dusty  roadsides,  you  must 
notice  the  white  feather  on  each  side  of  his  tail 
as  he  spreads  it  and  flies  before  you  to  alight 
upon  a fence.  Like  the  song  sparrow,  this 
cousin  has  some  fine  dark  streaks  on  his  throat 
and  breast.  If  you  get  near  enough  you  will 
notice  that  his  wing  eoverts,  which  are  a bright 
chestnut  brown,  make  the  rest  of  his  sparrow 
plumage  look  particularly  pale  and  dull.  Some 
people  call  him  the  bay-winged  bunting ; others, 
the  grass  finch,  because  he  nests,  like  the 
meadow-lark  and  many  other  foolish  birds,  on 
the  ground  where  mice,  snakes,  mowing  ma- 
chines and  cats  often  make  sad  havoc  of  his 
young  family. 


1 14  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

The  field  sparrow,  as  we  have  seen,  prefers 
neglected  old  fields  overgrown  with  bushes, 
but  the  vesper  sparrow  chooses  more  broad, 
open,  breezy,  grassy  country.  When  busy 
picking  up  insects  and  seed  on  the  ground,  he 
takes  no  time  for  singing,  but  keeps  steadily  at 
work,  unlike  the  vireos  that  sing  between  bites. 
With  him  music  is  a momentous  matter  to 
which  he  is  quite  willing  to  devote  half  an  hour 
at  a time.  He  usually  mounts  to  a fence  rail 
or  a tree  before  beginning  the  repetitions  of  his 
lovely,  serene  vesper  which  is  most  likely  to 
be  heard  about  sunset,  or  at  sunrise,  if  you  are 
not  a sleepy -head.  Like  the  rose-breasted 
grosbeak,  he  has  the  delightful  habit  of  singing 
through  the  early  hours  of  the  summer  night. 


ENGLISH  SPARROW 

Is  there  a boy  or  girl  in  America  who  does  not 
already  know  this  saucy,  keen-witted  little  gamin 
who  thrives  where  other  birds  would  starve; 
who  insists  upon  thrusting  himself  where  he 
is  not  wanted,  not  only  in  other  bird’s  houses, 
but  about  the  cornices,  pillars,  and  shutters  of 
our  own,  where  his  noise  and  dirt  drive  good 
housekeepers  frantic ; who,  without  any  weapons 
but  his  boldness  and  impudence  to  fight  with, 
fears  neither  man  nor  beast,  and  who  multi- 


English  Sparrow 


plies  as  fast  as  the  rabbit,  so  that  he  is  rapidly 
inheriting  the  earth?  Even  children  who  have 
never  been  out  of  the  slums  know  at  least  this 
one  bird,  this  ever-present  nuisance,  for  he 
chirps  and  chatters  as  cheerfully  in  the  reeking 
gutters  as  in  the  prettiest  gardens ; he  hops  with 
equal  calm  about  the  horse’s  feet  and  trolley 
cars  in  crowded  city  thoroughfares,  as  he  does 
about  flowery  fields  and  quiet  country  lanes; 
he  will  pick  at  the  overflow  from  garbage  pails 
on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  teeming  tenements 
and  manure  on  the  city  pavements  with  quite 
as  much  relish  as  he  will  eat  the  fresh  clean  seed 
spilled  by  a canary,  or  cake-crumbs  from  my 
lady’s  hand.  Intense  cold  he  endures  with 
cheerful  fortitude  and  as  intense  mid-summer 
heat  without  losing  his  astonishing  vitality. 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  a bird  so  readily  adaptable 
to  all  sorts  of  conditions  should  thrive  like  a 
weed  and  beat  his  way  around  the  world? 

Now  that  bShas  gained  such  headway  in  this 
country  his  extermination  is  practically  im- 
possible, since  a single  pair  of  sparrows  might 
have  275,716,983,698  descendants  in  ten  years! 
It  is  foolish  to  talk  of  ridding  the  land  of  these 
vermin  of  birddom.  The  conditions  that  kept 
them  in  check  at  home  are  lacking  in  this  great 
land  of  freedom  and  so  we  Americans  must 
pay  the  penalty  for  ignorantly  tampering  with 
nature. 


ii6  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Sparrows  were  first  imported  into  Brooklyn 
in  1851  to  rid  the  shade  trees  of  inch  worms. 
This  feat  they  accomplished  there  and  in  New 
York  with  neatness  and  despatch.  Every  one 
fed,  petted,  and  coddled  them  then.  It  was 
not  until  many  years  later  that  their  true  char- 
acter came  to  be  thoroughly  understood.  Then 
it  was  found  by  scientific  men  in  Washington, 
after  the  fairest  trial  any  culprits  ever  received, 
that  not  all  the  insects  and  weed  seeds  they 
destroy  compensate  for  the  damage  they  do 
in  the  farmer’s  grain  fields,  to  say  nothing  of 
their  harrassing  and  dispossessing  other  birds 
more  desirable.  But  they  kill  no  birds,  so  we 
may  hope  that,  in  the  course  of  time,  our  native 
songsters  may  pluck  up  courage  to  claim  their 
rights  and  hold  their  own,  learning  from  the 
sparrows  the  important  lesson  of  adaptability. 

CHIPPING  SPAP/T?'^” 

Called  also:  Chippy;  Door-step  Sparrow;  Hair 
Sparrow. 

This  summer  a pair  of  the  sociable,  friendly- 
little  chippies — the  smallest  members  of  their 
clan — decided  that  they  would  build  in  a little 
boxwood  tree  on  the  verandah  of  our  house  next 
to  the  front  door  through  which  members  of 
the  family  passed  every  hour  of  the  day.  While 


The  most  cheerful  of  bird  neighbours:  song  sparrows 


A baby  chippy  and  its  two  big  rose-breasted  grosbeak  cousins 


A chipping  sparrow  family  : one  baby  satisfied,  the  next  nearly  so,  the  third  still  hungry 


Chipping  Sparrow 


117 

we  sat  within  a few  feet  of  the  tree,  both  birds 
would  carry  into  it  fine  twigs  and  grasses  for 
the  foundation  of  the  nest  and,  later,  long  horse 
hairs  which  they  coiled  around  and  around  to 
form  a lining.  Where  did  they  get  so  many 
hairs?  A few  might  have  been  switched  out 
of  the  horses’  tails  in  the  stable  yard  or  dropped 
on  the  road,  but  what  amazingly  bright  eyes 
the  birds  must  have  to  find  them,  and  how 
curious  that  chippies  alone,  of  all  the  feathered 
tribe,  should  always  insist  upon  using  them  to 
line  their  cradles! 

From  the  back  of  a settle,  the  round  of  a 
rocking  chair,  or  the  gnomon  of  the  sun-dial 
near  the  verandah,  the  little  chippy  would  trill 
his  wiry  tremulo,  like  the  locust’s  hot  weather 
warning,  while  his  mate  brooded  over  five  tiny 
greenish-blue  eggs  in  the  boxwood  tree.  Be- 
fore even  the  robin  was  awake,  earlier  than 
dawn,  he  would  start  the  morning  chorus  with 
the  simple  little  trill  that  answers  for  a song  to 
express  every  emotion  throughout  the  long  day. 
Both  he  and  his  mate  use  a chip  call  note  in 
talking  to  each  other. 

When  she  was  tired  brooding,  of  which  she 
did  far  more  than  her  share,  he  would  relieve 
her  while  she  went  in  search  of  food.  V ery  often 
he  would  carry  to  the  nest  a cabbage  worm  for 
her  or  some  other  refreshing  delicacy.  The 
screen  door  might  bang  beside  her  while  she  sat 


ii8  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

close  upon  her  treasures  without  causing  her 
to  do  more  than  flutter  an  eye-lid.  Every 
member  of  the  family  parted  the  twigs  of  box- 
wood that  enclosed  the  nest  to  look  upon  her 
pretty  little  reddish-brown  head  with  a gray 
stripe  over  the  eye  and  a dark-brown  line  run- 
ning apparently  through  it.  All  of  us  gently 
stroked  her  from  time  to  time.  She  would 
occasionally  leave  the  nest  for  only  a minute  or 
two  to  pick  up  the  crumbs,  chickweed,  and 
canary  seed  scattered  for  her  about  the  veran- 
dah floor,  and  showed  not  the  slightest  fear 
when  we  went  on  with  our  regular  occupations. 
We  were  the  breathlessly  excited  ones,  while 
she  hopped  calmly  about  our  feet.  The  chippy 
is  wonderfully  tame — perhaps  the  tamest  bird 
that  we  have. 

You  may  be  sure  there  was  joy  in  the  house- 
hold when  the  nest  in  the  boxwood  contained 
baby  chippies  one  morning — not  a trace  of  egg- 
shells which  had  been  carried  away  early. 
Insects  were  the  only  approved  baby -food  and 
we  were  greatly  astonished  to  see  what  large 
ones  were  thrust  down  the  tiny,  gaping  throats 
every  few  minutes.  Instead  of  flying  straight 
to  the  nest,  both  parents  would  frequently  stop 
to  rest  or  get  proper  direction  on  the  back  or 
the  arm  of  a chair  where  some  one  was  sitting. 
In  eight  days  the  babies  began  to  explore  the 
verandah.  Then  they  left  us  suddenly  without 


Tree  Sparrow 


119 

a “good-bye.”  No  guests  whom  we  ever  had 
beneath  our  roof  left  a more  aching  void  than 
that  chipping  sparrow  family.  How  we  hope 
they  will  find  their  way  back  to  the  boxwood 
tree  from  the  Gulf  States  next  April! 

TREE  SPARROW 
Called  also:  Winter  Chippy 

When  the  friendly  little  chippy  leaves  us  in 
autumn,  this  similar  but  larger  sparrow  cousin 
comes  into  the  United  States  from  the  North, 
and  some  people  say  they  cannot  tell  the  two 
birds  apart  or  the  field  sparrow  from  either  of 
them.  The  tree  sparrow,  which,  unlike  the 
chippy,  has  no  black  on  his  forehead,  wears  an 
indistinct  black  spot  on  the  centre  of  his  breast 
where  the  chippy  is  plain  gray,  and  the  field 
sparrow  is  buffy.  The  tree  sparrow  has  a parti- 
coloured bill,  the  upper-half  black,  the  lower 
yellow  with  a black  tip,  while  the  chippy  has 
an  entirely  black  bill,  and  the  field  sparrow  a 
flesh-coloured  or  pale-red  one.  Only  the  tree 
sparrow,  which  is  larger  than  either  of  the 
others,  although  only  as  large  as  a full  grown 
English  sparrow,  spends  the  winter  in  the 
Northern  United  States,  and  by  that  time  his 
confusing  relatives  are  too  far  south  for  compar- 
ison. It  is  in  spring  and  autumn  that  their 


120  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

ranges  over-lap  and  there  is  any  possibility  of 
confusion. 

When  the  slate-coloured  juncos  come  from 
their  nesting  grounds  far  over  the  Canadian 
border,  look  also  for  flocks  of  tree  sparrows 
in  fields  and  door  yards,  where  crab  grass, 
amaranth  and  fox  tail  grass,  among  other 
pestiferous  weeds,  are  most  abundant.  I do 
not  know  how  Professor  Beal  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Agriculture,  arrived  at  his  conclusions, 
but  he  estimates  that  in  a single  state — Iowa — 
the  tree  sparrows  alone  destroy  eight  hundred 
and  seventy-five  tons  of  noxious  weed  seeds 
every  winter.  Then  how  incalculably  great 
must  be  our  debt  to  the  entire  sparrow  tribe! 

Tree  sparrows  welcome  other  winter  birds 
to  their  friendly  flocks  that  glean  a comfortable 
living  from  the  weed  stalks  protruding  from 
the  snow.  Their  cheerful,  soft,  jingling  notes 
have  been  likened  by  Mr.  Chapman  to  “ sparkling 
frost  crystals  turned  to  music.” 

WHITE-THROATED  SPARROW 
Called  also:  Peabody-bird;  Canada  Sparrow 

“What’s  in  a name?”  Our  English  cousins 
over  the  border  are  quite  sure  they  hear  this 
sparrow  sing  the  praises  of  Swee-e-et  Can-a-da, 
Can-a-da,  Can-a-da-ah,  while  the  New  En- 


White-throated  Sparrow 


I2I 


glanders  think  the  bird  distinctly  says,  I-I-Pea~ 
body,  Pea-bod-y,  Pea-bod-y-I,  extolling  the 
name  of  one  of  their  first  families.  You  may 
amuse  yourself  by  fitting  whatever  words  you 
like  to  the  well-marked  metre  of  the  clear,  high- 
pitched,  plaintive,  sweet  song  of  twelve  notes. 
Learn  to  imitate  it  and  you  will  be  able  to 
whistle  up  any  white-throat  within  reach  of 
your  voice  in  the  Adirondacks,  the  White 
Mountains,  or  the  deep,  cool  woods  of  Maine, 
throughout  the  summer,  although  the  majority 
of  these  hardy  sparrows  nest  on  the  northern 
side  of  the  Canadian  border.  Our  hot  weather 
they  cannot  abide.  When  there  is  a keen 
breath  of  frost  in  the  air  and  the  hedgerows  and 
thickets  in  the  United  States  are  taking  on 
glorious  autumnal  tints,  listen  for  the  white- 
throated  migrants  conversing  with  sharp  chink 
call-notes  that  sound  like  the  ring  of  a marble- 
cutter’s  chisel. 

During  the  autumn  and  spring  migrations, 
when  these  birds  are  likely  to  give  us  the  semi- 
annual pleasure  of  coming  closer  about  our 
homes,  with  other  members  of  their  sociable 
tribe,  you  will  see  that  the  white-throat  is  a 
slightly  larger  and  more  distinguished  bird 
than  the  English  sparrow,  and  that  he  wears  a 
white  patch  above  his  plain,  gray  breast.  Ex- 
cept the  white-crowned  sparrow,  who  wears  a 
black  and  white-striped  soldier  cap  on  his  head, 


122  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

and  who  sometimes  travels  in  migrating  flocks 
with  his  cousins,  the  white-throated  sparrow  is 
the  handsomest  member  of  his  plain  tribe. 


FOX  SPARROW 

Do  you  imagine  because  he  is  called  the  fox 
sparrow  that  this  bird  has  four  legs,  or  that  he 
wears  a brush  instead  of  feathers  for  a tail,  or 
that  he  makes  sly  visits  to  the  chicken  yard 
after  dark?  When  you  see  his  rusty,  reddish- 
brown  coat  you  guess  that  the  foxy  colour  of 
it  is  alone  responsible  for  his  name.  His  light 
breast  is  heavily  streaked  and  spotted  with 
brown,  somewhat  like  a thrush’s,  and  as  he  is 
the  largest  and  reddest  of  the  sparrows,  it  is  not 
at  all  difficult  to  identify  him. 

In  the  autumn,  when  the  juncos  come  into 
the  United  States  from  Canada,  small  flocks  of 
their  fox  sparrow  cousins,  that  have  spent  the 
summer  from  the  St.  Lawrence  region  and 
Manitoba  northward  to  Alaska,  may  also  be 
expected.  They  are  often  seen  in  the  junco’s 
company  among  the  damp  thickets  and  weeds, 
along  the  roadsides  and  in  stalky  fields  bounded 
by  woodland.  The  fox  sparrow  loves  to  scratch 
among  the  dead  leaves  for  insects  trying  to 
hide  there,  quite  as  well  as  if  he  were  a chicken 
or  a towhee  or  an  oven-bird  who  kick  up  the 


Junco  123 

leaves  and  earth  rubbish  after  his  vigorous 
manner. 

From  Virginia  southward,  the  people  know 
the  fox  sparrow  only  as  a winter  resident.  Be- 
fore he  leaves  them  in  the  spring,  he  begins  to 
practise  the  clear,  rich,  ringing  song,  which 
fairly  startles  one  with  pleasure  the  first  time 
it  is  heard. 


JUNCO 

Called  also:  Slate-coloured  Snow -bird 

When  the  skies  are  leaden  and  the  first 
flurries  of  snow  warn  us  that  winter  is  near, 
flocks  of  juncos,  that  reflect  the  leaden  skies  on 
their  backs,  and  the  grayish-white  snow  on  their 
breasts,  come  from  the  North  to  spend  the 
winter.  A few  enter  New  England  as  early  as 
September,  but  by  Thanksgiving  increased 
numbers  are  foraging  for  their  dinner  among 
the  roadside  thickets,  in  the  furrows  of 
ploughed  fields,  on  the  ground  near  evergreens, 
about  the  bam-yard  and  even  at  the  dog’s  plate 
beyond  the  kitchen  door. 

Notice  how  abruptly  the  slate  gray  colour  of 
the  junco’s  mantle  ends  in  a straight  line  across 
his  light  breast,  and  how,  when  he 'flies  away, 
the  white  feathers  on  either  side  of  his  tail  serve 
as  signals  to  his  friends  to  follow.  Such  signals 


124  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

are  especially  useful  when  birds  are  migrating; 
without  them,  many  stragglers  from  the  flocks 
might  get  lost.  Juncos,  who  are  extremely 
sociable  birds,  except  when  nesting,  need  help 
in  keeping  together.  A crisp,  frosty  'tsip 
call  note  signifies  alarm  and  away  flies  the 
flock.  They  are  quiet,  unassuming  visitors, 
modest  in  manner  and  in  dress;  but  how  we 
should  miss  them  from  the  winter  landscape ! 

SNOWFLAKE 

In  the  northern  United  States  and  Canada, 
it  is  the  snowflake  or  snow  bunting,  a sparrowy 
little  bird  with  a great  deal  of  white  among  its 
rusty  brown  feathers  that  is  the  familiar  winter 
visitor.  Instead  of  hopping,  like  most  of  its 
tribe,  it  walks  over  the  frozen  fields  and 
rarely  perches  higher  than  a bush  or  fence  rail, 
for  it  comes  very  near  being  a ground  bird. 
Delighting  in  icy  blasts  and  snow  storms,  flocks 
of  these  irrepressibly  cheerful  little  foragers 
fatten  on  a seed  diet  picked  up  where  other 
birds  would  starve. 

AMERICAN  GOLDFINCH 

Called  also:  Black-winged  Yellow-bird;  Thistle 
Bird;  Lettuce  Bird;  Wild  Canary 

Have  you  a garden  gay  with  marigolds,  sun- 
flowers, coreopsis,  zinnias,  cornflowers,  and  gail- 


American  Goldfinch 


125 


lardias?  If  so,  every  goldfinch  in  your  neigh- 
bourhood knows  it  and  hastens  there  to  feed  on 
the  seeds  of  these  plants  as  fast  as  they  form, 
so  that  you  need  expect  to  save  none  for  next 
spring’s  planting.  Don’t  you  prefer  the  birds 
when  flower  seeds  cost  only  five  cents  a packet? 
Clinging  to  the  slender,  swaying  stems,  the 
goldfinches  themselves  look  so  like  yellow 
flowers  that  you  do  not  suspect  how  many  are 
feasting  in  the  garden  until  they  are  startled 
into  flight.  Then  away  they  go,  bounding 
along  through  the  air,  now  rising,  now  falling, 
in  long  aerial  waves  peculiar  to  them  alone. 
You  can  always  tell  a goldfinch  by  its  wavy 
course  through  the  air.  Often  it  accents  the 
rise  of  each  wave  as  it  flies  by  a ripple  of  sweet, 
twittering  notes.  The  yellow  warbler  is  some- 
times called  a wild  canary  because  he  looks 
like  a canary ; the  goldfinch  has  the  same  mis- 
leading name  applied  to  him  because  he  sings 
like  one. 

But  goldfinches  by  no  means  depend  upon 
our  gardens  for  their  daily  fare.  Wild  lettuce, 
mullein,  dandelion,  ragweed  and  thistles  are 
special  favourites.  Many  weed  stalks  suddenly 
blossom  forth  into  black  and  gold  when  a flock 
of  finches  alight  for  a feast  in  the  summer  fields, 
or,  browned  by  winter  frost,  bend  beneath  the 
weight  of  the  birds  when  they  cling  to  them  pro- 
truding through  the  snow. 


126  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Usually  not  until  July,  when  the  early  thistles 
furnish  plenty  of  fluff  for  nest  lining,  do  pairs  of 
goldfinches  withdraw  from  flocks  to  begin  the 
serious  business  of  raising  a family.  A com- 
pact, cozy,  cup-like  structure  of  fine  grass,  veg- 
etable fibre,  and  moss,  is  placed  in  the  crotch 
of  a bush  or  tree,  or  sometimes  in  a talk 
branching  thistle  plant.  Except  the  cedar 
waxwings,  the  goldfinches  are  the  latest  nesters 
of  all  our  birds.  As  their  love-making  is  pro- 
longed through  the  entire  summer,  so  is  the 
deliciously  sweet,  tender,  canary-like  song  of 
the  male.  Dear,  dear,  dearie,  you  may  hear  him 
sing  to  his  dearest  all  day  long. 

In  summer,  throughout  his  long  courtship, 
he  wears  a bright,  lemon-yellow  wedding  suit 
with  black  cap,  wings,  and  tail,  while  his  sweet- 
heart is  dressed  in  a duller  green  or  olive  yellow. 
After  the  August  moult,  he  emerges  a dingy 
olive-brown,  sparrowy  bird,  in  perfect  colour 
harmony  with  the  wintry  fields. 

PURPLE  FINCH 
Called  also:  Linnet 

It  would  seem  as  if  the  people  who  named 
most  of  our  birds  and  wild  flowers  must  have 
been  colour-blind.  Old  rose  is  more  nearly 
the  colour  of  this  finch  who  looks  like  a brown 


Purple  Finch 


127 


sparrow  that  had  been  dipped  into  a bath  of 
raspberry  juice  and  left  out  in  the  sun  to  fade. 
But  only  the  mature  males  wear  this  colour, 
which  is  deepest  on  their  head,  rump,  and  breast. 
Their  sons  are  decidedly  sparrowy  until  the 
second  year  and  their  wives  look  so  much  like 
the  song  sparrows  that  you  must  notice  their 
heavy,  rounded  bills  and  forked  tails  to  make 
sure  they  are  not  their  cousins.  A purple 
finch  that  had  been  caged  two  years  gradually 
turned  yellow,  which  none  of  his  kin  in  the  wild 
state  has  ever  been  known  to  do.  Why?  No 
ornithologist  is  wise  enough  to  tell  us,  for  the 
colour  of  birds  is  still  imperfectly  understood. 

Like  the  goldfinches,  these  finches  wander 
about  in  flocks.  You  see  them  in  the  hemlock 
and  spruce  trees  feeding  on  the  buds  at  the  tips 
of  the  branches,  in  the  orchard  pecking  at  the 
blossoms  on  the  fruit  trees,  in  the  wheat  fields 
with  the  goldfinches  destroying  the  larvae  of 
the  midge,  or  by  the  roadsides  cracking  the 
seeds  of  weeds  that  are  too  hard  to  open  for  birds 
less  stout  of  bill.  When  it  is  time  to  nest,  these 
finches  prefer  evergreen  trees  to  all  others,  al- 
though orchards  sometimes  attract  them. 

A sudden  outbreak  of  spirited,  warbled  song 
in  March  opens  the  purple  finch’s  musical  sea- 
son, which  is  almost  as  long  as  the  song  spar- 
row’s. Subdued  nearly  to  a humming  in 
October,  it  is  still  a delightful  reminder  of  the 


128  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

finest  voice  possessed  by  any  bird  in  the  great 
sparrow  tribe.  But  it  is  when  the  singer  is  in 
love  that  the  song  reaches  its  highest  ecstasy. 
Then  he  springs  into  the  air  just  as  the  yellow- 
breasted chat,  the  oven-bird,  and  woodcock  do 
when  they  go  a-wooing,  and  sings  excitedly 
while  mounting  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  above 
his  mate  until  he  drops  exhausted  at  her  side. 

INDIGO  BUNTING 
Called  also:  Indigo-bird. 

Every  child  knows  the  bluebird,  possibly  the 
kingfisher  and  the  blue  jay,  too,  but  there  is 
only  one  other  bird  with  blue  feathers,  the  little 
indigo  bunting,  who  is  no  larger  than  your  pet 
canary,  that  you  are  ever  likely  to  meet  unless 
you  live  in  the  Southwest  where  the  blue  gros- 
beak might  be  your  neighbour.  If,  by  chance, 
you  should  see  a little  lady  indigo-bird  you 
would  probably  say  contemptuously ; “ Another 
tiresome  sparrow,”  and  go  on  your  way,  not 
noticing  the  faint  glint  of  blue  in  her  wings  and 
tail.  Otherwise  her  puzzling  plumage  is  de- 
cidedly sparrowy,  although  unstreaked.  So  is 
that  of  her  immature  sons.  But  her  husband 
will  be  instantly  recognised  because  he  is  the 
only  very  small  bird  who  wears  a suit  of 
deep,  rich  blue  with  verdigris-green  reflections 


Towhee 


129 


about  the  head — bluer  than  the  summer  sky 
which  pales  where  his  little  figure  is  outlined 
against  it. 

Mounting  by  erratic,  short  flights  from  the 
weedy  places  and  bushy  tangles  he  hunts  among 
to  the  branches  of  a convenient  tree,  singing  as 
he  goes  higher  and  higher,  he  remains  for  a time 
on  a conspicuous  perch  and  rapidly  and  repeat- 
edly sings.  When  almost  every  other  bird  is 
moulting  and  moping,  he  warbles  with  the  same 
fervour  and  timbre.  Possibly  because  he  has  the 
concert  stage  almost  to  himself  in  August,  he 
gets  the  credit  of  being  a better  performer  than 
he  really  is.  Only  the  pewee  and  the  red-eyed 
vireo,  whom  neither  midday  nor  midsummer 
heat  can  silence,  share  the  stage  with  him  then. 

TOWHEE 

Called  also:  Chewink;  Ground  Robin;  Joree 

From  their  hunting-ground  in  the  blackberry 
tangle  and  bushes  that  border  a neighbouring 
wood,  a family  of  chewinks  sally  forth  boldly 
to  my  piazza  floor  to  pick  up  seed  from  the 
canary’s  cage,  hemp,  cracked  com,  sunflower 
seed,  split  pease,  and  wheat  scattered  about  for 
their  especial  benefit.  One  fellov/  grew  bold 
enough  to  peck  open  a paper  bag.  It  is  a daily 
happening  to  see  at  least  one  of  the  family  close 


T30  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

to  the  door ; or  even  on  the  window-sill. 
The  song,  the  English,  the  chipping,  the  field, 
and  the  white-throated  sparrows — any  one  or 
all  of  these  cousins — usually  hop  about  with 
the  chewinks  most  amicably  and  with  no 
greater  ease  of  manner ; but  the  larger  chewink 
hops  more  energetically  and  precisely  than  any 
of  them,  like  a mechanical  toy. 

Heretofore  I had  thought  of  this  large,  vigor- 
ous bunting  as  a rather  shy  or  at  least  self- 
sufficient  bird  with  no  desire  to  be  neighbourly. 
His  readiness  to  be  friends  when  sure  of  the 
genuiness  of  the  invitation,  was  a delightful 
surprise.  From  late  April  until  late  October 
my  softly -whistled  towhee  has  rarely  failed  to 
bring  a response  from  some  pensioner,  either  in 
the  woodland  thicket  or  among  the  rhododen- 
drons next  the  piazza  where  the  seeds  have 
been  scattered  by  the  wind.  Chewink,  or  towhee 
comes  the  brisk  call  from  wherever  the  busy 
bunting  is  foraging.  The  chickadee,  whippoor- 
will, phoebe  and  pewee  also  tell  you  their 
names,  but  this  bird  announces  himself  by  two 
names,  so  you  need  make  no  mistake. 

Because  he  was  hatched  in  a ground  nest  and 
loves  to  scratch  about  on  the  ground  for  insects, 
making  the  dead  leaves  and  earth  rubbish  fly 
like  any  barnyard  fowl,  the  towhee  it  often 
called  the  ground  robin.  He  is  a little  smaller 
than  robin-redbreast.  Looked  down  upon  from 


Red-breasted  Grosbeak 


131 

above  he  appears  to  be  almost  a black  bird, 
for  his  upper  parts,  throat  and  breast  are  very 
dark  where  his  mate  is  brownish;  but  under- 
neath both  are  grayish  white  with  patches  of 
rusty  red  on  their  sides,  the  colour  resembling 
a robin’s  breast  when  its  red  has  somewhat 
faded  toward  the  end  of  summer.  The  white 
feathers  on  the  towhee’s  short,  rounded  wings 
and  on  the  sides  of  his  tail  are  conspicuous 
signals,  as  he  flies  jerkily  to  the  nearest  cover. 
You  could  not  expect  a bird  with  such  small 
wings  to  be  a graceful  flyer. 

Rarely  does  he  leave  the  ground  except  to 
sing  his  love-song.  Then,  mounting  no  higher 
than  a bush  or  low  branch,  he  entrances  his 
sweetheart,  if  not  the  human  critic,  with  a song 
to  which  Ernest  Thompson  Seton  supplies  the 
well-fitted  words:  Chuck-burr,  pill-a  will-a- 
will-a. 


RED-BREASTED  GROSBEAK 

Among  birds,  as  among  humans,  it  is  the 
father  who  lends  his  name  to  the  family,  how- 
ever difficult  it  may  be  to  know  the  mother  and 
children  by  it.  Who  that  had  not  studied  the 
books  would  recognise  Mrs.  Scarlet  Tanager  by 
her  name?  or  Mrs.  Purple  Finch?  or  Mrs. 
Indigo  Bunting?  or  Mrs.  Rose-breasted  Gros- 


132  Birds  Every  Child  Bhould  Know 

beak?  The  latter  lady  has  not  a rose-coloured 
feather  on  her.  She  is  a streaked,  brown  bird, 
resembling  an  overgrown  sparrow,  with  a 
thick,  exaggerated  finch  bill  and  a conspicuous, 
white  eyebrow.  When  her  husband  wears  his 
winter  clothes  in  the  tropics,  his  feathers  are 
said  to  be  similar  to  hers,  so  that  even  his  name, 
then,  does  not  fit.  But  when  he  returns  to  the 
United  States  in  May  he  is,  in  very  truth,  a rose- 
breasted grosbeak.  His  back  is  as  black  as  a 
chewink’s;  underneath  he  is  grayish  white, 
and  a patch  of  lovely,  brilliant,  rose  colour  on 
his  breast,  with  wing  linings  of  the  same  shade, 
make  him  a splendidly  handsome  fellow.  Per- 
haps before  you  get  a glimpse  of  the  feathers 
that  are  his  best  means  of  introduction,  you 
may  hear  a thin  eek  call -note  from  some  tree-top, 
or  better  still,  listen  to  the  sweet,  pure,  mellow, 
joyously  warbled  song,  now  loud  and  clear,  now 
softly  tender,  that  puts  him  in  the  first  rank  of 
our  songsters. 

Few  birds  so  conspicuously  dressed  risk  the 
safety  of  their  nests  either  by  singing  or  by  being 
seen  near  it,  but  this  gentle  cavalier  not  only 
carries  food  to  his  brooding  mate  but  actually 
takes  his  turn  at  sitting  upon  the  pale-greenish, 
blue -speckled  eggs.  As  a lover,  husband,  and 
father  he  is  irreproachable. 

A friend  who  reared  four  orphan  grosbeaks 
says  that  they  left  the  nest  when  about  eleven 


Cardinal 


That  dusky  rascal,  the  cowbird 


Cardinal  Grosbeak 


I3S 

days  old.  They  were  very  tame,  even  affection- 
ate toward  him,  hoppingover  his  shoulders,  head, 
knees,  and  hands  without  the  least  fear,  and 
eating  from  his  fingers.  When  only  ten  weeks 
old  the  little  boy  grosbeaks  began  to  warble. 
On  being  released  to  pick  up  their  own  living 
in  the  garden,  these  pets  repaid  their  foster- 
father  by  eating  quantities  of  potato-bugs, 
among  other  pests.  Some  people  call  this 
grosbeak  the  potato-bug  bird. 

CARDINAL  GROSBEAK 

Called  also  : Crested  Redbird:  Virginia  Night- 
ingale. 

It  was  on  a cold  January  day  in  Central  Park, 
New  York,  that  I first  met  a cardinal  and  was 
warmed  by  the  sight.  Then  I supposed  that  he 
must  have  escaped  from  a cage,  for  he  is  un- 
common north  of  Washington.  With  tail  and 
crest  erect,  he  was  hopping  about  rather  clumsily 
on  the  ground  near  the  bear’s  cage,  and 
picking  up  bits  of  broken  peanuts  that  had 
missed  their  mark.  Presently  a dove-coloured 
bird,  lightly  washed  with  dull  red,  joined  him 
and  I guessed  by  her  crest  that  she  must  be 
his  mate.  Therefore  both  birds  were  per- 
manent residents  in  the  park  and  not  escaped 
pets.  Although  they  look  as  if  they  belonged 


134  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

in  the  tropics,  cardinals  never  migrate  as  the 
rose-breasted  grosbeak  and  so  many  of  our 
fair-weather  feathered  friends  do.  That  is 
because  they  can  live  upon  the  weed  seeds  and 
the  buds  of  trees  and  bushes  in  winter  as 
comfortably  as  upon  insects  in  summer.  It 
pays  not  to  be  too  particular. 

In  the  Southern  States  every  child  knows  the 
common  cardinal  and  could  tell  you  that  he  is 
a little  smaller  than  a robin  (not  half  so  graceful), 
that  he  is  red  all  over,  except  a small  black 
area  around  his  red  bill,  and  that  he  wears  his 
head -feathers  crested  like  the  blue  jay  and  the 
titmouse.  In  a Bermuda  garden,  a shelf  res- 
taurant nailed  up  in  a cedar  tree  attracted  car- 
dinals about  it  every  hour  of  the  day.  If  you 
can  think  of  a prettier  sight  than  that  dark 
evergreen,  with  the  brilliant  red  birds  hopping 
about  in  its  branches  and  the  sparkling  sapphire 
sea  dashing  over  gray  coral  rocks  in  the  back- 
ground, do  ask  some  artist  to  paint  it! 

Few  lady  birds  sing — an  accomplishment 
usually  given  to  their  lover’s  only,  to  help  woo 
them.  But  the  female  cardinal  is  a charming 
singer  with  a softer  voice  than  her  mate’s — 
most  becoming  to  one  of  her  sex — and  an  in- 
dividual song  quite  different  from  his  loud, 
clear  whistle. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  ILL-ASSORTED  BLACKBIRD 
FAMILY 


Bobolink 

COWBIRD 

Red-winged  Blackbird 

Rusty  Blackbird 

Meadowlark 

Orchard  Oriole 

Baltimore  Oriole 

Purple  and  Bronzed  Grackles 


BOBOLINK 


Called  also:  Reedbird;  Ricebird;  Ortolan;  Maybird 

Such  a rollicking,  jolly  singer  is  the  bobolink! 
On  a May  morning,  when  buttercups  spangle 
the  fresh  grasses  in  the  meadows,  he  rises  from 
their  midst  into  the  air  with  the  merriest  frolic 
of  a song  you  ever  heard.  ‘Loud,  clear,  strong, 
full  of  queer  kinks  and  twists  that  could  not 
possibly  be  written  down  in  our  musical  scale^ 
the  rippling,  reckless  music  seems  to  keep  his 
wings  in  motion  as  well  as  his  throat ; for  when 
it  suddenly  bursts  forth,  up  he  shoots  into  the 
air  like  a skylark,  and  paddles  himself  along 
with  just  the  tips  of  his  wings  while  it  is  the 
“mad  music”  that  seemingly  propels  him : — then 
he  drops  with  his  song  into  the  grass  again. 
Frequently  he  pours  out  his  hilarious  melody 
while  swaying  on  the  slender  stems  of  the 
grasses,  propped  by  the  stiff,  pointed  feathers 
of  his  tail.  A score  or  more  of  bobolinks  rising 
in  some  open  meadow  all  day  long,  are  worth 
travelling  miles  to  hear. 

If  you  were  to  see  the  mate  of  one  of  these 
merry  minstrels  apart  from  him,  you  might 
easily  mistake  her  for  another  of  those  tiresome 

137 


138  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

sparrows.  A brown,  streaked  bird,  with  some 
buff  and  a few  white  feathers,  she  shades  into 
the  colours  of  the  ground  as  well  as  they  and 
covers  her  loose  heap  of  twigs,  leaves  and  grasses 
in  the  hay  field  so  harmoniously  that  few 
people  ever  find  it  or  the  clever  sitter. 

As  early  as  the  Fourth  of  July,  bobolinks 
begin  to  desert  the  choir,  being  the  first  birds 
to  leave  us.  Travelling  southward  by  easy 
stages,  they  feed  on  the  wild  rice  in  the  marshes 
until,  late  in  August,  enormous  flocks  reach 
the  cultivated  rice  fields  of  South  Carolina  and 
Georgia. 

On  the  way,  a great  transformation  has 
gradually  taken  place  in  the  male  bobolink’s 
dress.  At  the  North  he  wore  a black,  buff 
and  white  wedding  garment,  with  the  unique 
distinction  of  being  lighter  above  than  below; 
but  this  he  has  exchanged,  feather  by  feather, 
for  a striped,  brown,  sparrowy  winter  suit  like 
his  mate’s  and  children’s,  only  with  a little 
more  buff  about  it. 

In  this  inconspicuous  dress  the  reedbirds,  or 
ricebirds,  as  bobolinks  are  usually  called  south 
of  Mason  and  Dixon’s  line,  descend  in  hordes 
upon  the  rice  plantations  when  the  grain  is 
in  the  milk,  and  do  several  millions  of  dollars’ 
worth  of  damage  to  the  crop  every  year,  sad, 
sad  to  tell.  Of  course,  the  birds  are  snared, 
shot,  poisoned.  In  southern  markets  half 


Cowhird 


139 


a dozen  of  them  on  a skewer  may  be  bought, 
plucked  and  ready  for  the  oven,  for  fifty  cents 
or  less.  Isn’t  this  a tragic  fate  to  overtake 
our  joyous  songsters?  Birds  that  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  like  anything  planted  by  man,  pay 
a terribly  heavy  penalty. 

Such  bobolinks  as  escape  death,  leave  this 
country  by  way  of  Florida  and  continue  their 
four  thousand  mile  journey  to  southern  Brazil, 
where  they  spend  the  winter;  yet,  nothing 
daunted  by  the  tragedies  in  the  rice  fields, 
they  dare  return  to  us  by  the  same  route  in 
May.  By  this  time  the  males  have  made 
another  complete  change  of  feather  to  go 
a-courting.  Most  birds  are  content  to  moult 
once  a year,  just  after  nursery  duties  have  ended ; 
some,  it  is  true,  put  on  a partially  new  suit  in 
the  following  spring,  retaining  only  their  old 
wing  and  tail  feathers;  but  a very  few,  the 
bobolink,  goldfinch,  and  scarlet  tanager  among 
them,  undergo  as  complete  a change  as  Harle- 
quin. 


COWBIRD 

This  contemptible  bird  every  child  should 
know  if  for  no  better  reason  than  to  despise  it. 
You  will  see  it  alone  or  in  small  flocks  walking 
about  the  pastures  after  the  cattle;  or,  in  the 


140  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

West,  boldly  perching  upon  their  backs  to 
feed  upon  the  insect  parasites  — a pleasant 
visitor  for  the  cows.  So  far,  so  good. 

The  male  is  a shining,  greenish-black  bird 
smaller  than  a robin,  with  a coffee-brown  head 
and  neck.  His  morals  are  awful,  for  he  makes 
violent  love  to  any  brownish-gray  cowbird 
he  fancies  but  mates  with  none.  What  should 
be  Iris  song  is  a squeaking  kluck  tse-e-e,  squeezed 
out  with  difficulty,  or  a gurgle,  like  water  being 
poured  from  a bottle.  When  he  goes  a-wooing, 
he  behaves  ridiculously,  parading  with  spread 
wings  and  tail  and  acting  as  if  he  were  violently 
nauseated  in  the  presence  of  the  lady.  Fancy 
a cousin  of  the  musical  bobolink  behaving 
so! 

And  nothing  good  can  be  said  for  the  female 
cowbird.  Shirking  as  she  does  every  motherly 
duty,  she  sneaks  about  the  woods  and  thickets, 
slyly  watching  her  chance  to  lay  an  egg  in  the 
cradle  of  some  other  bird,  since  she  never  makes 
a nest  of  her  own.  Thus  she  scatters  her  prospec- 
tive family  throughout  the  neighbourhood.  The 
yellow  warbler,  who  is  a famous  sufferer  from 
her  visits,  sometimes  outwits  her,  as  we  have 
seen ; but  other  warblers,  less  clever,  the  vireos, 
some  sparrows,  and,  more  rarely,  woodpeckers, 
flycatchers,  orioles,  thrushes  and  wrens,  seem 
to  accept  the  unwelcome  gift  without  a protest. 
If  you  were  a bird  so  imposed  upon,  wouldn’t 


Red-winged  Blackbird  X41 

you  peck  holes  in  that  egg,  or  roll  it  out  of 
your  nest,  or  build  another  cradle  rather  than 
hatch  a big,  greedy  interloper  that  would 
smother  and  starve  your  own  babies?  Prob- 
ably every  cowbird  you  see  has  sacrificed  the 
lives  of  at  least  part  of  a brood  of  valuable, 
insectivorous  songsters.  Without  the  least 
spark  of  gratitude  in  its  cold  heart,  a young 
cowbird  grafter  forsakes  its  over-kind  foster 
parents  as  soon  as  it  can  pick  up  its  living 
and  remains  henceforth  among  its  own  kin — 
of  whom  only  cows  could  think  well. 

RED-WINGED  BLACKBIRD 
Called  also:  Swamp  Blackbird 

When  you  are  looking  for  the  first  pussy 
willows  in  the  frozen  marshes,  or  listening  to 
the  peeping  of  young  frogs  some  day  in  early 
spring,  you  will,  no  doubt,  become  acquainted 
with  this  handsome  blackbird,  with  red  and 
orange  epaulettes  on  his  shoulders,  who  has 
just  returned  from  the  South.  “Ke,  kong- 
ker-ee,”  he  flutes  from  the  willows  and  alders 
about  the  reedy  meadows  where  he  and  his 
bachelor  friends  flock  together  and  make  them 
ring  “with  social  cheer  and  jubilee.”  A little 
later,  flocks  of  dingy,  brown,  streaked  birds, 


142  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

travelling  northward,  pause  to  rest  in  the 
marshes.  Wholesale  courting  takes  place  short- 
ly after  and  every  red-wing  in  a black  uniform 
chooses  one  of  the  plain,  streaked,  matter-of- 
fact  birds  for  his  mate.  The  remainder  con- 
tinue their  unmaidenly  journey  in  search  of 
husbands,  whom  they  find  waiting  in  cheerful 
readiness  in  almost  any  marsh.  By  the  first 
of  May  all  have  settled  down  to  home  life. 

Then  how  constant  are  the  rich,  liquid, 
sweet  o-ka-lee  notes  of  the  red-wing!  Ever 
in  foolish  fear  for  the  safety  of  his  nest,  he 
advertises  its  whereabouts  in  musical  head- 
lines from  the  top  of  the  nearest  tree,  or  circles 
around  it  on  fluttering  wings  above  the  sedges, 
or  chucks  at  any  trespasser  near  it  until  one 
might  easily  torture  him  by  going  straight  to 
its  site. 

But  how  short-lived  is  this  excessive  devo- 
tion to  his  family!  In  July,  the  restless  young 
birds  flock  with  the  mothers,  but  the  now 
indifferent  fathers  keep  apart  by  themselves. 
Strange  conduct  for  such  fussy,  solicitous 
birds ! They  congregate  in  large  numbers 
where  the  wild  rice  is  ripening  and  make  short 
excursions  to  the  farmers’  fields,  where  they 
destroy  some  grain,  it  is  true,  but  so  little  as 
compared  with  the  quantity  of  injurious  insects 
and  weed  seed,  that  the  debt  is  largely  in  the 
red-wings’  favour. 


Meadowlark 


»43 


RUSTY  BLACKBIRD 
Called  also:  Thrush  Blackbird 

This  cousin  of  the  red-wing,  whom  it  resembles 
in  size,  flight  and  notes,  is  a common  migrant 
in  the  United  States.  Nesting  is  done  farther 
north.  In  spring,  the  rusty  blackbirds  come 
from  the  South  in  pairs,  already  mated,  whereas 
the  red-wings  and  grackles  travel  then  in  flocks. 
At  that  time  the  males  are  a uniform  glossy, 
bluish-black,  and  their  mates  a slate  gray,  darker 
above  than  below ; but  after  the  summer  moult, 
when  they  gather  in  small  companies,  both 
are  decidedly  rusty.  You  might  mistake  them 
for  grackles  in  the  spring,  but  never  for  male 
red-wings  then  with  their  bright  epaulettes. 
Notice  the  lusty  blackbird’s  pale  yellow  eye. 

MEADOWLARK 

Called  also:  Old-field  Lark;  Meadow  Starling 

Every  farmer’s  boy  knows  his  father’s  friend, 
the  meadowlark,  the  brownish,  mottled  bird, 
larger  than  a robin,  with  a lovely  yellow  breast 
and  black  crescent  on  it,  that  keeps  well  hidden 
in  the  grass  of  the  meadows  or  grain  fields. 
Of  course  he  knows,  too,  that  it  is  not  really 
a lark,  but  a starling.  When  the  shy  bird 
takes  wing,  note  the  white  feathers  on  the 


144  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

sides  of  its  tail  to  be  sure  it  is  not  the  big, 
brownish  flicker,  who  wears  a patch  of  white 
feathers  on  its  lower  back,  conspicuous  as  it 
flies.  The  meadowlark  has  the  impolite  habit 
of  turning  its  back  upon  one  as  if  it  thought 
its  yellow  breast  too  beautiful  for  human  eyes 
to  gaze  at.  It  flaps  and  sails  through  the  air 
much  like  bob-white.  But  flying  is  not  its 
specialty.  It  is,  however,  a strong-legged, 
active  walker,  and  rarely  rises  from  the  ground 
unless  an  intruder  gets  very  near,  when  away 
it  flies,  with  a nasal,  sputtered  alarm  note, 
to  alight  upon  a fence  rail  or  other  low  perch. 

The  tender,  sweet,  plaintive,  flute-like  whistle, 
Spring-o' -the-year , is  a deliberate  song  usually 
given  from  some  favourite  platform — a stump, 
a rock,  a fence  or  a mound,  to  which  the  bird 
goes  for  his  musical  performance  only.  He 
sings  on  and  on  delightfully,  not  always  the 
same  song,  for  he  has  several  in  his  repertoire, 
and  charms  all  listeners,  although  he  cares 
to  please  none  but  his  mate,  that  looks  just 
like  him. 

She  keeps  well  concealed  among  the  grasses 
where  her  grassy  nest  is  almost  impossible 
to  find,  especially  if  it  be  partly  arched  over 
at  the  top.  No  farmer  who  realises  what  an 
enormous  number  of  grasshoppers,  not  to 
mention  other  destructive  insects,  meadow- 
larks destroy,  is  foolish  enough  to  let  his 


Orchard  Oriole 


145 


mowing-machine  pass  over  their  nests  if  he  can 
but  locate  them.  By  the  time  the  hay  is  ready 
for  cutting  in  June,  the  active  meadowlark 
babies  are  usually  running  about  through  grassy 
run-ways,  but  eggs  of  the  second  brood  too 
frequently,  alas!  meet  a tragic  end. 

ORCHARD  ORIOLE 

Fortunately  many  other  birds  besides  this 
oriole  prefer  to  live  in  orchards ; otherwise 
think  how  many  worm-eaten  apples  there 
would  be!  He  usually  has  the  kingbird  for 
company,  and,  strange  to  say,  keeps  on  friendly 
terms  with  that  rather  exclusive  fellow;  also 
the  robin,  the  bluebird,  the  cedar  waxwing  and 
several  other  feathered  neighbours  who  show 
a preference  for  fruit  trees  when  it  is  time  to 
nest.  You  may  know  the  orchard  oriole’s 
cradle  by  its  excellent  weaving.  It  is  not  a 
deep,  swinging  pouch,  like  the  Baltimore  oriole’s, 
but  a v/ell-rounded  cup,  more  like  a vireo’s, 
formed  of  grasses  of  nearly  even  length  and 
width,  cut  green  and  woven  with  far  more  skill 
and  precision  than  a basket  made  by  a boy  or  a 
girl  is  apt  to  be.  Look  for  it  near  the  end  of 
a limb,  ten  to  twenty  feet  up.  It  is  by  no 
means  easily  seen  when  the  green,  grassy  cup 
matches  the  colour  of  the  leaves. 

The  mother  oriole  is  so  harmoniously  dressed 


146  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

in  grayish  olive  green,  more  yellowish  under- 
neath, that  you  may  scarcely  notice  her  as  she 
glides  among  the  trees;  but  her  mate  is  more 
conspicuous,  however  quietly  dressed  in  black 
and  reddish  chestnut — even  sombrely  dressed 
as  compared  with  his  flashy  orange  and  black 
cousin,  the  Baltimore  oriole.  Nevertheless, 
it  takes  him  two,  or  possibly  three  years  to 
attain  his  fine  clothes.  By  that  time  his  song 
is  rich,  sweet  and  strong. 

Do  orioles  generally  take  special  delight  in 
the  music  of  a piano?  An  orchard  oriole  who 
used  to  come  close  to  our  house  to  feed  on  the 
basket  worms  dangling  from  a tamarix  bush, 
returned  long  after  the  last  worm  had  been 
eaten  whenever  someone  touched  the  keys. 
And  I have  known  more  than  one  Baltimore 
oriole  to  fly  about  the  house,  joyously  singing, 
as  if  attracted  and  excited  by  the  music  in-doors. 


BALTIMORE  ORIOLE 

Called  also:  Firebird;  Golden  Robin;  Hang-nest; 
Golden  Oriole 

A flash  of  flame  among  the  tender  young 
spring  foliage ; a rich,  high,  whistled  song  from 
the  blossoming  cherry  trees,  and  every  child 
knows  that  the  sociable  Baltimore  oriole  has  just 
returned  from  Central  America.  Brilliant  orange 


The  gorgeous  Baltimore  oriole 


How  do  you  suppose  these  young  Baltimore  orioles  ever 
packed  themselves  into  so  small  a nest  ? 


Baltimore  Oriole 


147 


and  black  feathers  like  his  could  no  more  be 
concealed  than  the  fiery  little  redstart’s;  and 
as  if  they  alone  were  not  enough  to  advertise 
his  welcome  presence  in  the  neighbourhood, 
he  keeps  up  a rich,  ringing,  insistent  whistle 
that  you  can  quickly  learn  to  imitate.  You 
have  often  started  all  the  roosters  in  your 
neighbourhood  to  crowing,  no  doubt ; even  so  you 
can  “whistle  up’’  the  mystified  orioles,  who  are 
always  disposed  to  live  near  our  homes.  Al- 
though the  Baltimore  oriole  has  a Southern 
name,  he  is  really  more  common  at  the  North, 
whereas  the  orchard  oriole  is  more  at  home 
south  of  New  England. 

Lady  Baltimore,  who  wears  a yellowish-olive 
dress  with  dusky  wings  and  tail,  has  the  repu- 
tation of  being  one  of  the  finest  nest  builders 
in  the  world.  To  the  end  of  a branch  of  some 
tall  shade  tree,  preferably  an  elm  or  willow, 
although  almost  any  large  tree  on  a lawn  or 
roadside  may  suit  her,  she  carries  grasses, 
plant  fibre,  string,  or  bits  of  cloth.  These 
she  weaves  and  felts  into  a perfect  bag  six  or 
seven  inches  deep  and  lines  it  with  finer  grasses, 
hair  and  wool — a safe,  cozy,  swinging  cradle 
for  her  babies. 

But,  as  you  may  imagine,  those  babies  have 
a rather  hard  time  when  they  try  to  climb  out 
of  it  into  the  world.  Many  a one  tumbles  to 
the  ground,  unable  to  hold  on  to  the  tip  of  a 


148  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

swaying  twig,  and  not  being  strong  enough  to 
fly.  Then  what  a tremendous  fuss  the  parents 
make!  They  cannot  carry  the  youngster  up 
into  the  tree;  they  are  in  deadly  fear  of  cats; 
they  are  too  worried  and  excited  to  leave  him 
alone;  but  the  plucky  little  fellow  usually  hops 
toward  the  tree  and  with  the  help  of  his  sharp 
claws  on  the  rough  bark,  flutters  his  way  up 
to  the  first  limb.  People  who  have  brought 
up  broods  of  orphan  orioles  say  that  they  are 
unusually  lively,  interesting  pets.  The  little 
girl  orioles  will  attempt,  instinctively,  to  weave 
worsted,  string,  grass,  or  whatever  is  given 
them  to  play  with,  for  of  course  they  never  took 
a lesson  in  weaving  from  their  expert  mother. 


THE  PURPLE  AND  THE  BRONZED 
CRACKLES 

Called  also:  Crow  Blackbirds 

You  probably  know  either  one  of  our  two 
crow  blackbirds,  similar  in  size  and  habits,  one 
with  purplish,  iridescent  plumage,  the  common- 
est grackle  east  of  the  Alleghanies  and  south  of 
Massachusetts,  and  the  bronzed  grackle,  with 
brassy  tints  in  his  black  plumage,  who  over- 
nms  the  Western  country  and  from  Massa- 
chusetts northward.  Both  have  uncanny. 


The  Purple  and  the  Bronzed  Crackles  149 

yellow  eyes  that  make  you  suspect  they  may 
be  witches  in  disguise.  Their  mates  are  a trifle 
smaller  and  dtdler. 

When  the  trees  are  still  leafless  in  earliest 
spring  and  the  ground  is  brown  and  cold,  flocks 
of  blackbirds  dot  the  bare  trees  or  take  shelter 
from  March  winds  among  their  favourite  ever- 
greens, or  walk  solemnly  about  on  the  earth 
like  small  crows,  feeding  on  fat  white  grubs 
and  beetles  in  a business-like  way.  They 
are  singularly  joyless  birds.  A croaking,  wheezy 
whistle,  like  the  sound  of  a cart  wheel  that  needs 
axle-grease,  expresses  whatever  pleasure  they 
may  have  in  life. 

Always  sociable,  living  in  flocks  the  entire 
year  through,  it  is  in  autumn  only  that  they 
band  together  in  enormous  numbers,  and  in 
the  West  especially,  do  serious  havoc  in  the 
cornfields.  However,  they  do  incalculable  good 
as  insect  destroyers,  so  the  farmers  must  for- 
give the  “maize  thieves.” 


Was  ever  a family  so  ill-assorted  as  the  black- 
bird and  oriole  clan?  What  traits  are  common 
to  every  member  of  it?  Not  one,  that  I know. 
Some  of  the  family,  as  you  have  seen,  are  gor- 
geously clad,  like  the  Baltimore  oriole;  some 
quite  plainly,  like  the  cowbird;  and  although 
black  seems  to  be  a prevalent  colour  in  the 


150  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

plumage,  the  meadowlark,  for  example,  is  a 
hrown  bird  with  only  a black  crescent  on  its 
breast.  Most  of  the  males  are  dressed  quite 
differently  from  their  mates,  although  the  female 
grackles  are  merely  duller.  Some  of  these  birds 
sing  exquisitely;  others  wheeze  or  croak  a few 
unmusical  notes.  Some  live  in  huge  flocks ; some 
live  in  couples.  Some,  like  the  bobolinks, 
travel  to  the  tropics  and  beyond  every  winter ; 
others,  like  the  meadowlark,  can  endure  the 
intense  cold  of  the  North.  Part  of  the  family 
feed  upon  the  ground,  but  the  oriole  branch 
live  in  the  trees.  Devotion  to  mates  and  chil- 
dren characterise  most  of  the  family,  but  we 
cannot  overlook  the  cowbird  that  neither  mates 
nor  takes  the  slightest  care  of  its  offspring. 
The  cowbird  builds  no  nest,  while  its  cousin, 
the  Baltimore  oriole,  is  a famous  weaver.  The 
bobolink  is  a rollicking,  jolly  fellow ; the  grackle 
is  solemn,  even  morose.  What  a queer  family! 


Young  orchard  oriole3 


“There  were  three  crows  sat  on  a tree 


CHAPTER  X 


RASCALS  WE  MUST  ADMIRE 

American  Crow 
Blue  Jay 
Canada  Jay 


AMERICAN  CROW 


'T^WO  close  relatives  there  are  which,  like  the 
poor,  are  always  with  us — the  crow  and  the 
blue  jay.  Both  are  mischievous  rascals,  extraor- 
dinarily clever,  with  the  most  highly  developed 
brains  that  any  of  our  birds  possess.  Some  men 
of  science  believe  that,  because  of  their  brain 
power,  they  rightly  belong  at  the  head  of  the 
bird  class  where  the  thrushes  now  stand;  but 
who  wishes  to  see  a family  of  songless  rogues 
awarded  the  highest  honours  of  the  class 
Avesf 

No  bird  is  so  well  known  to  “every  child,” 
so  admired  by  artists,  so  hated  by  farmers, 
as  the  crow,  who  flaps  his  leisurely  way  above 
the  cornfields  with  a caw  for  friend  and  foe 
alike,  not  caring  the  least  for  anyone’s  opinion 
of  him,  good  or  bad.  Perhaps  he  knows  his 
own  true  worth  better  than  the  average  farmer, 
who  has  persecuted  him  with  bounty  laws,  shot- 
gun, and  poison  for  generations.  The  crow 
keeps  no  account  of  the  immense  numbers 
of  grubs  and  larvse  he  picks  up  as  he  walks  after 
the  plough  every  spring,  nor  does  the  far- 
mer, who  nevertheless  counts  the  corn  stolen 
as  fast  as  it  is  planted,  and  as  fast  as  it  ripens, 
IS3 


154  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

you  may  be  very  sure,  and  puts  a price  on  the 
robber’s  head.  Yet  he  knows  that  corn,  dipped 
in  tar  before  it  is  put  in  the  ground,  will  be 
left  alone  to  sprout.  But  who  is  clever  enough 
to  keep  the  crows  out  of  the  field  in  autumn? 

How  humiliated  would  humans  feel  if  they 
realised  what  these  knowing  birds  must  think 
of  us  when  we  set  up  in  our  cornfields  the 
absurd-looking  scares  they  so  calmly  ignore! 
Some  crows  I know  ate  every  kernel  off  every 
ear  around  the  scare-crow  in  a neighbour’s 
field,  but  touched  no  stalk  very  far  from  it,  as 
much  as  to  say:  “We  take  your  dare  along 
with  your  com,  Mr.  Silly.  If  the  ox  that 
treadeth  out  his  com  is  entitled  to  his  share 
of  it,  ought  not  we,  who  saved  it  from  grass- 
hoppers, cutworms.  May  beetles  and  other 
pests,  be  sharers  in  the  profits?’’  Granted; 
but  what  about  eating  the  farmer’s  young 
chickens  and  turkeys  as  well  as  the  eggs  and 
babies  of  little  song  birds  ? At  times,  it  must  be 
admitted,  the  crow’s  heart  is  certainly  as 
dark  as  his  feathers;  he  is  as  black  as  he  is 
painted,  but  happily  such  cannibalism  is  apt 
to  be  rare.  Strange  that  a bird  so  tenderly 
devoted  to  his  own  fledglings,  should  be  so 
heartless  to  others’! 

Toward  the  end  of  winter,  you  may  see  a 
pair  of  crows  carrying  sticks  and  trash  to  the 
top  of  some  tall  tree  in  the  leafless  woods. 


American  Crow 


155 


and  there,  in  this  bulky  cradle,  almost  as 
bulky  as  a squirrel’s  nest,  they  raise  their  fam- 
ily. Young  crows  may  be  easily  tamed  and  they 
make  interesting,  but  very  mischievous  pets. 
It  is  only  when  crows  are  nesting  that  they 
give  up  their  social,  flocking  habit. 

In  winter,  if  the  fields  be  lean,  large  pictur- 
esque flocks  may  be  seen  at  dawn  streaking 
across  the  sky  to  distant  beaches  where  they 
feed  on  worms,  refuse  and  small  shellfish. 
More  than  one  crow  has  been  watched,  rising 
in  the  air  with  a clam  or  a mussel  in  his  claws, 
dropping  it  on  a rock,  then  falling  after  it,  as 
soon  as  the  shell  is  smashed,  to  feast  upon  its 
contents.  The  fish  crow,  a distinct  species, 
never  found  far  inland,  although  not  neces- 
sarily seen  near  water,  may  be  distinguished 
from  our  common  crow  by  its  hoarser  car.  In 
some  cases  it  joins  its  cousins  on  the  beaches. 
With  punctual  regularity  at  sundown,  the  flocks 
straggle  back  inland  to  go  to  sleep,  sometimes 
thousands  of  crows  together  in  a single  roost. 
Many  birds  have  more  regular  meal  hours  and 
bed-time  than  some  children  seem  to  care  for. 
Because  crows  eat  almost  anything  they  can 
find,  and  pick  up  a good  living  where  other 
birds,  more  finical  or  less  clever,  would  starve, 
they  rarely  need  to  migrate ; but  they  are  great 
rovers.  There  is  not  a day  in  the  year  when 
you  could  not  find  a crow. 


156  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 
BLUE  JAY 

This  vivacious,  dashing  fellow,  harsh- 
voiced  and  noisy,  cannot  be  overlooked;  for 
when  a brightly  coloured  bird,  about  a foot 
long,  roves  about  your  neighbourhood  with  a 
troop  of  screaming  relatives,  everybody  knows 
it.  In  summer  he  keeps  quiet,  but  throws 
off  all  restraint  in  autumn.  Hear  him  ham- 
mering at  an  acorn  some  frosty  morning! 
How  vigorous  his  motions,  how  alert  and  in- 
dependent! His  beautiful  military  blue,  black 
and  white  feathers,  and  crested  head,  give  him 
distinction. 

He  is  certainly  handsome.  But  is  his  beauty 
only  skin  deep?  Does  it  cover,  in  reality,  a 
multitude  of  sins?  Shocking  stories  of  murder 
in  the  song  bird’s  nest  have  branded  the  blue 
jay  with  quite  as  bad  a name  as  the  crow’s.  The 
brains  of  fledgings,  it  has  been  said,  are  his 
favourite  tid-bits.  But  happily  scientists,  who 
have  turned  the  searchlight  on  his  deeds,  find 
that  his  sins  have  been  very  greatly  exag- 
gerated. Remains  of  young  birds  were  found 
in  only  two  out  of  nearly  three  hundred  blue 
jays’  stomachs  analysed.  Birds’  eggs  are  more 
apt  to  be  sucked  by  both  jays  and  squirrels 
than  are  the  nestlings  to  be  eaten.  Do  you 
ever  enjoy  an  egg  for  breakfast?  Fruit,  grain, 
thin-shelled  nuts,  and  the  larger’ seeds  of  trees 


Canada  Jay 


157 


and  shrubs,  gathered  for  the  most  part  in  Na- 
ture’s open  store-room,  not  in  man’s,  are  what 
the  jay  chiefly  delights  in ; and  these  he  hides 
away,  squirrel-fashion,  to  provide  for  the  rainy 
day.  More  than  half  of  all  his  food  in  summer 
consists  of  insects,  so  you  see  he  is  then  quite 
as  useful  as  his  cousin,  the  crow. 

Jays  are  fearful  teasers.  How  they  love 
to  chase  about  some  poor,  blinking,  bewildered 
owl,  in  the  daylight!  Jay-jay-jay,  you  may 
hear  them  scream  through  the  woods.  They 
mimic  the  hawk’s  cry  for  no  better  reason, 
perhaps,  than  that  they  may  laugh  at  the  panic 
into  which  timid  little  birds  are  thrown  at  the 
terrifying  sound.  A pet  jay  I knew  could  whistle 
up  the  stupid  house-dog,  who  was  fooled  again 
and  again.  This  same  jay  used  to  carry  all 
its  beech  nuts  to  a piazza  roof,  wedge  them 
between  the  shingles,  and  open  them  there 
with  ease.  An  interesting  array  of  hair  pins, 
matches,  buttons,  a thimble  and  a silver  spoon 
were  raked  out  of  his  favourite  cache  under 
the  eaves. 


CANADA  JAY 

Called  also:  Whiskey  Jack;  Moose-bird;  Meat-bird 

Anyone  who  has  camped  in  the  northern 
United  States  and  over  the  Canadian  border 
knows  that  the  crow  and  blue  jay  have  a rogue  for 


158  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

a cousin  in  this  sleek,  bold  thief,  the  Canada  jay. 
He  is  a fluffy,  big,  gray  bird,  without  a crest,  with 
a white  throat  and  forehead  and  black  patch 
at  the  back  of  his  neck.  This  rascal  will  walk 
alone  or  with  his  gang  into  your  tent,  steal 
your  candles,  matches,  venison,  and  collar- 
buttons  before  your  eyes,  or  help  himself  to 
the  fish  bait  while  he  perches  on  your  canoe, 
or  laugh  at  you  with  an  impudent  ca-ca-ca  from 
the  mountain  ash  tree  where  he  and  his  friends 
are  feasting  on  the  berries;  then  glide  to  the 
ground  to  slyly  pick  a trap  set  for  mink  or 
marten.  Fortunate  the  trapper  who,  on  his 
return,  does  not  find  either  bait  gone,  or  game 
damaged. 

Fearless,  amazingly  hardy  (having  been 
hatched  in  zero  weather),  mischievous  and 
clever  to  a maddening  degree,  this  jay,  like 
his  cousins,  compels  admiration,  although  we 
know  all  three  to  be  rogues. 


Bhie  jay  on  her  nest 


Five  little  teasers  get  no  dinner  from  Mamma  blue  jays 


Not  afraid  of  the  camera:  baby  blue  jay  out  for  their  first  airing 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  FLYCATCHERS 

Kingbird 

Crested  Flycatcher 

Phcebe 

Pewee 

Least  Flycatcher 


9 


THE  FLYCATCHERS 


WHEN  you  see  a dusky  bird,  smaller  than 
a robin,  lighter  gray  underneath  than 
on  its  sooty-brown  back,  with  a well-rounded, 
erect  head,  set  on  a short,  thick  neck,  you  may 
safely  guess  it  is  one  of  the  flycatchers — an- 
other strictly  American  family.  If  the  bird 
has  a white  band  across  the  end  of  its  tail  it  is 
probably  the  fearless  kingbird.  If  the  feathers 
on  top  of  its  head  look  as  if  they  had  been 
brushed  the  wrong  way  into  a pointed  crest; 
moreover,  if  some  chestnut  colour  shows  in  its 
tail  when  spread,  and  its  pearly  gray  breast 
shades  into  yellow  tmdemeath,  you  are  looking 
at  the  noisy  “wild  Irishman”  of  birddom,  the 
crested  flycatcher.  Confiding  Phoebe  wears 
the  plainest  of  dull  clothes  with  a still  darker, 
dusky  crown  cap,  and  a line  of  white  on  her 
outer  tail  feathers.  She  and  the  plaintive 
wood  pewee,  who  has  two  indistinct  whitish 
bars  across  her  extra-long  wings,  are  scarcely 
larger  than  an  English  sparrow ; while  the  least 
flycatcher,  who  calls  himself  Chebec,  is,  as  you 
may  suppose,  the  smallest  member  of  the 
tribe  to  leave  the  tropics  and  spend  the  summer 
with  us.  Male  and  female  members  of  this 

i6i 


i62  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

family  wear  similar  clothes,  fortunately  for 
“every  child”  who  tries  to  identify  them. 

You  can  tell  a flycatcher  at  sight  by  the  way 
he  collects  his  dinner.  Perhaps  he  will  be 
sitting  quietly  on  the  limb  of  a tree  or  on  a 
fence  as  if  dreaming,  when  suddenly  off  he 
dashes  into  the  air,  clicks  his  broad  bill  sharply 
over  a winged  insect,  flutters  an  instant,  then 
wheels  about  and  returns  to  his  favourite  perch 
to  wait  for  the  next  course  to  fly  by.  He  may 
describe  fifty  such  loops  in  mid-air  and  make  as 
many  fatal  snap-shots  before  his  hunger  is 
satisfied.  A swallow  or  a swift  would  keep 
constantly  on  the  wing;  a vireo  would  hunt 
leisurely  among  the  foliage;  a warbler  would 
restlessly  flit  about  the  tree  hunting  for  its 
dinner  among  the  leaves;  but  the  dignified, 
dexterous  flycatcher,  like  a hawk,  waits 
patiently  on  his  lookout  for  a dinner  to  fly 
toward  him,  “All  things  come  to  him  who 
waits,”  he  firmly  believes. 

None  of  the  family  is  musically  gifted,  but  all 
make  a more  or  less  pleasing  noise.  Flycatchers 
are  solitary,  sedentary  birds,  never  being  found 
in  flocks;  but  when  mated,  they  are  devoted 
home  lovers. 

We  are  apt  to  think  of  tropical  birds  as 
very  gaily  feathered,  but  certainly  many  that 
come  from  warmer  climes  to  spend  the  summer 
with  us  are  less  conspicuous  than  Quakers. 


The  dashing,  great  crested  flycatcher 


Baby  kingbirds  in  an  apple  tree 


Kingbird 

KINGBIRD 


163 


Called  also:  Bee  Martin 

In  spite  of  his  scientific  name,  which  has 
branded  him  the  tyrant  of  tyrants,  the  kingbird 
is  by  no  means  a bully.  See  him  high  in  air  in 
hot  pursuit  of  that  big,  black,  villainous  crow, 
who  dared  try  to  rob  his  nest,  darting  about  the 
rascal’s  head  and  pecking  at  his  eyes  until  he 
is  glad  to  leave  the  neighbourhood!  There 
seems  to  be  an  eternal  feud  between  them. 
Even  the  marauding  hawk,  that  strikes  terror 
to  every  other  feathered  breast,  will  be  driven 
off  by  the  plucky  little  kingbird.  But  surely 
a courageous  home  defender  is  no  tyrant.  A 
kingbird  doesn’t  like  the  scolding  catbird  for 
a neighbour,  or  the  teasing  blue  jay,  or  the 
meddlesome  English  sparrow,  but  he  simply 
gives  them  a wide  berth.  He  is  no  Don  Quixote 
ready  to  fight  from  mere  bravado.  Tyr annus 
tyrannus  is  a libel. 

For  years  he  has  been  called  the  bee  martin 
and  some  scientific  men  in  Washington  deter- 
mined to  learn  if  that  name,  also,  is  deserved. 
So  they  collected  over  two  hundred  kingbirds 
from  different  parts  of  the  country,  examined 
their  stomachs  and  found  bees — mostly  drones 
— ^in  only  fourteen.  The  bird  is  too  keen  sighted 
and  clever  to  snap  up  knowingly  a bee  with  a 


/ 


164  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

sting  attached,  you  may  be  sure;  but  occa- 
sionally he  makes  a mistake  when,  don’t  you 
believe,  he  is  more  sorry  for  it  than  the  bee- 
keeper? He  destroys  so  many  robber  flies — a 
pest  of  the  hives — that  the  intelligent  apiarist, 
who  keeps  bees  in  his  orchard  to  fertilise  the 
blossoms,  always  likes  to  see  a pair  of  kingbirds 
nesting  in  one  of  his  fruit  trees.  The  gardener 
welcomes  the  bird  that  eats  rose  chafers;  the 
farmer  approves  of  him  because  he  catches 
the  gadfly  that  torments  his  horses  and  cattle, 
as  well  as  the  grasshoppers,  katydids  and 
crickets  that  would  destroy  his  field  crops  if 
left  unchecked. 

From  a favourite  lookout  on  a tall  mullein 
stalk,  a kingbird  neighbour  of  mine  would 
detect  an  insect  over  one  hundred  and  seventy 
feet  away,  where  no  human  eye  could  see  it, 
dash  off,  snap  it  safely  within  his  bill,  flutter 
uncertainly  an  instant,  then  return  to  his  perch 
ready  to  “loop  the  loop”  again  any  moment. 
The  curved  clasp  at  the  tip  of  his  bill  and  the 
stiff  hairs  at  the  base  helped  hold  every  insect 
his  prisoner.  While  waiting  for  food  to  fly  into 
sight  the  watcher  did  a good  deal  of  calling. 
His  harsh,  chattering  note,  ching,  ching,  which 
penetrated  to  a surprising  distance,  did  not 
express  alarm,  but  rather  the  exultant  joy  of 
victory. 

He  and  his  mate  were  certainly  frantic  with 


Four  crested  flycatchers  who  need  to  have  their  hair  brushed 


Time  for  these  young  phoebes  to  leave  the  nest 


Young  phoebes  on  a bridge  trestle 


Crested  Flycatcher 


fear,  however,  when  I climbed  into  their  apple 
tree  one  June  morning,  determined  to  have  a 
peep  at  the  five  creamy-white  eggs,  speckled 
with  brown  and  pale  lilac,  that  had  just  been 
laid  in  the  nest  in  a crotch  near  the  end  of  a 
stout  limb.  Whirling  and  dashing  about  my 
head,  the  pair  made  me  lose  my  balance, 
and  I tumbled  ten  feet  or  more  to  the  ground. 
As  the  intruder  fell,  they  might  well  have 
exclaimed — perhaps  they  did — “ Sic  semper 
tyrannis!” 

CRESTED  FLYCATCHER 

Far  more  tyrannical  than  the  kingbird  is  this 
“wild  Irishman,”  as  John  Burroughs  calls  the 
large  flycatcher  with  the  tousled  head  and 
harsh,  uncanny  voice,  who  prowls  around  the 
woods  and  orchards  startling  most  feathered 
friends  and  foes  with  a loud,  piercing  ex- 
clamation that  sounds  like  What!  Unlike 
good  children,  he  is  more  often  heard  than 
seen. 

That  the  solitary,  unpopular  bird  takes  a 
mischievous  delight  in  scaring  its  enemies,  you 
may  know  when  I tell  you  that  it  likes  better 
than  any  other  lining  for  its  nest,  a cast  snake 
skin.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  baby  fly- 
catchers’ hair  stands  on  end?  If  the  great- 
crest  cannot  find  the  skin  of  a snake  to  coil 


1 66  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

around  her  eggs,  or  to  hang  out  of  the  nest,  she 
may  use  onion  skins,  or  oiled  paper,  or  even 
fish  scales;  for  what  was  once  a protective 
custom,  sometimes  becomes  degraded  into  a 
cheap  imitation  of  the  imitation  in  the  furnish- 
ing of  her  house.  Into  an  abandoned  wood- 
peckers’ hole  or  a bluebirds’  cavity  after  the 
babies  of  these  early  nesters  have  flown,  or  into 
some  unappropriated  hollow  in  a tree,  this  fly- 
catcher carries  enough  grasses,  weeds  and 
feathers  to  keep  her  nestlings  cozy  during  those 
rare  days  of  June  beloved  by  Lowell,  but  which 
Dr.  Holmes  observed  are  often  so  rare  they 
are  raw . 


PHGEBE 

Called  also:  Bridge  Pewee;  Dusky  Flycatcher; 

Water  Pewee 

The  first  of  its  family  to  come  North,  as  well 
as  the  last  to  leave  us  for  the  winter,  the  phoebe 
appears  toward  the  end  of  March  to  snap  up 
the  first  insects  warmed  into  life  by  the  spring 
sunshine.  Crackles  in  the  evergreens,  red- 
wings in  the  swampy  meadows,  bluebirds  in  the 
orchard  may  assure  us  that  summer  is  on  the. 
way;  but  the  homely,  confiding  phoebe,  who 
comes  close  about  our  houses  and  bams,  brings 
the  good  news  home  to  us  every  hour. 


Phoebe 


167 


Pewit — phaebe,  pewit — phcebe,  he  calls  con- 
tinually. As  he  perches  on  the  peak  of  a 
building  or  other  point  of  vantage,  notice  how 
vigorously  he  wags  his  tail  when  he  calls,  and 
turns  his  head  this  way  and  that,  to  keep  an 
eye  in  all  directions  lest  a bite  should  fly  by 
him  unawares. 

Presently  a mate  comes  from  somewhere 
south  of  the  Carolinas  where  she  has  passed 
the  winter;  for  phoebes  are  more  hardy  than 
the  rest  of  the  family  and  do  not  travel  all  the 
way  to  the  tropics.  With  unfailing  accuracy 
she  finds  the  region  where  she  built  her  nest 
the  previous  season  or  where  she  herself  was 
hatched.  This  instinct  of  returned  direction 
is  marvellous,  is  it  not?  Sometimes  it  is 
hard  enough  for  us  humans  to  find  the  way 
home  when  not  ten  miles  away.  Did  you  ever 
get  lost?  Birds  almost  never  do. 

Phoebes  like  a covering  over  their  heads  to 
protect  their  nests  from  spring  rains,  so  you 
will  see  a domesticated  couple  going  about  the 
place  like  a pair  of  wrens,  investigating  niches 
under  the  piazza  roof,  beams  in  an  empty  barn 
loft  and  projections  under  bridges  and  trestles. 
By  the  middle  of  April  a neat  nest  of  moss  and 
lichen,  plastered  together  with  mud  and  lined 
with  long  hair  or  wool,  if  sheep  are  near,  is 
made  in  the  vicinity  of  their  home  of  the  year 
before.  The  nursery  is  exquisitely  fashioned — 


i68  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

one  of  the  best  pieces  of  bird  architecture  you 
are  likely  to  find. 

Some  over-thrifty  housekeepers,  neverthe- 
less, tear  down  nests  from  their  piazzas,  because 
the  poor  little  phoebes  are  so  afflicted  with  lice 
that  they  are  considered  objectionable  neigh- 
bours. Many  wild  birds,  like  chickens,  have 
their  life-blood  drawn  by  these  minute  pests. 
But  a thorough  dusting  of  the  phoebe’s  nest 
with  Persian  powder  would  bring  relief  to  the 
tormented  birds,  save  their  babies,  perhaps, 
from  death  and  keep  the  piazza  free  from 
vermin.  No  birds  enjoy  a bath  in  your  fotm- 
tain  or  water  pan  more  than  these  tormented 
ones. 

From  purely  selfish  motives  it  pays  to  cul- 
tivate neighbours  ever  on  the  lookout  for 
flies,  wasps.  May  beetles,  click  beetles,  elm 
destroyers  and  the  moth  of  the  cutworm.  The 
first  nest  is  usually  so  infested  that  the  phoebes 
either  tear  it  down  in  July,  and  build  a new  one 
on  its  site,  or  else  make  the  second  nest  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  first.  The  parents  of 
two  broods  of  from  four  to  six  ravenously 
hungry,  insectivorous  young,  with  an  instinc- 
tive desire  to  return  to  their  old  home  year 
after  year,  should  surely  meet  no  discourage- 
ment from  thinking  farmers’  wives. 

Shouldn’t  you  think  that  baby  phoebes, 
reared  in  nests  under  railroad  bridges,  would 


Wood  Pewee  169 

be  fearfully  frightened  whenever  a train  thun- 
dered overhead? 

WOOD  PEWEE 

When  you  have  been  wandering  through 
the  summer  woods  did  you  ever,  like  Trow- 
bridge, sit  down 

‘‘Beside  the  brook,  irresolute, 

And  watch  a little  bird  in  suit 
Of  sombre  olive,  soft  and  brown, 

Perched  in  the  maple  branches,  mute? 

With  greenish  gold  its  vest  was  fringed, 

Its  tiny  cap  was  ebon-tinged. 

With  ivory  pale  its  wings  were  barred, 

And  its  dark  eyes  were  tender  starred. 

‘Dear  bird,*  I said,  ‘what  is  thy  name?’ 

And  thrice  the  mournful  answer  came, 

So  faint  and  far,  and  yet  so  near — 

‘Pewee!  pe-wee!  peer!*  ** 

Doubtless  this  demure,  gentle  little  cousin  of 
the  noisy,  aggressive,  crested  flycatcher  has  no 
secret  sorrow  preying  at  its  heart,  but  the  ten- 
der pathos  of  its  long-drawn  notes  would  seem 
to  indicate  that  it  is  rather  melancholy.  And 
it  sings  (in  spite  of  the  books  which  teach  us 
that  the  flycatchers  are  “songless,  perching 
birds”)  from  the  time  of  its  arrival  from  Cen- 
tral America  in  May  until  only  the  tireless 
indigo  bunting  and  the  red-eyed  vireo  are  left 
in  the  choir  in  August. 

But  how  suddenly  its  melancholy  languor 


170  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

■departs  the  instant  an  insect  flies  within  Sight! 
With  a cheerful,  sudden  sally  in  mid-air,  • it 
snaps  up  the  luscious  bite,  for  it  can  be  quite  as 
active  as  any  of  the  family.  While  not  so 
ready  to  be  neighbourly  as  the  phoebe,  the 
pewee  condescends  to  visit  our  orchards  and 
shade  trees. 

When  nesting  time  comes,  it  looks  for  a partly 
decayed,  lichen-covered  branch,  and  on  to  this 
saddles  a compact,  exquisite  cradle  of  fine 
grass,  moss  and  shreds  of  bark,  binding  bits  of 
lichen  with  spiders’  web  to  the  outside  until 
the  sharpest  of  eyes  are  needed  to  tell  the 
stuccoed  nest  from  the  limb  it  rests  on.  Only 
the  tiny  hummingbird,  who  also  uses  lichen  as 
a protective  and  decorative  device,  conceals 
her  nest  so  successfully. 

LEAST  FLYCATCHER 
Called  also:  Chebec 

It  is  not  until  he  calls  out  his  name,  Chebec! 
Chebec!  in  clear  and  business-like  tones  from 
some  tree-top  that  you  could  indentify  this 
fluffy  flycatcher,  scarcely  more  than  five  inches 
long,  whose  dusky  coat  and  light  vest  offer  no 
helpful  markings.  Not  a single  gay  feather 
relieves  his  sombre  suit.  Isn’t  this  a queer, 
^uakerly  taste  for  a bird  that  spends  half  his  life 


Least  Flycatcher 


17T 

in  the  tropics  among  gorgeously  feathered 
friends?  Even  the  plain  vireos,  as  a family, 
wear  finer  clothes  than  the  dusky  flycatchers. 
Y ou  may  know  that  the  chebec  is  not  one  of  those 
deliberate  searchers  of  foliage  by  his  sudden, 
murderous  sallies  in  mid-air. 

Abundant  from  Pennsylvania  to  Quebec, 
the  least  flycatchers  are  too  inconspicuous  to 
be  much  noticed.  They  haunt  apple  orchards 
chiefly  at  nesting  time,  fortunately  for  the  crop, 
and  at  no  season  secrete  themselves  in  shady 
woods  as  pewees  do.  A little  chebec  neighbour 
of  mine  used  to  dart  through  the  spray  from 
the  hose  that  played  on  the  lawn  late  every 
every  afternoon  during  a drought,  and  sit  on 
the  tennis  net  to  preen  his  wet  feathers;  but 
he  nearly  put  out  my  eyes  in  his  excitement 
and  anger  when  I presumed  on  so  much  friendli- 
ness to  peep  into  his  nest. 


f 


CHAPTER  XII 


SOME  QUEER  RELATIONS 

Whip-poor-will 
Nighthawk 
Chimney  Swift 
Ruby-throated  Hummingbird 


WHIP-POOR-WILL 


A QUEER,  shadowy  bird,  that  sleeps  all 
day  in  the  dense  wood  and  flies  about 
through  open  country  after  dark  as  softly  as 
an  owl,  would  be  difficult  for  any  child  tp  know 
were  it  not  for  the  weird,  snappy  triplets  of 
notes  that  tell  his  name.  Every  one  knows  him 
far  better  by  sound  than  by  sight.  Whip- 
poor-Will  {chuck)  whip-poor-will  {chuck)  whip- 
poor-will  {chttck)  he  calls  rapidly  for  about 
two  hours,  just  after  sunset  or  before  sunrise 
from  some  low  place,  fluttering  his  wings  at 
each  announcement  of  his  name.  But  you 
must  be  near  him  to  hear  the  chuck  at  the  end 
of  each  vigorous  triplet;  most  listeners  don’t 
know  it  is  there. 

You  might  be  very  close  indeed  without 
seeing  the  plump  bird,  about  the  size  of  a robin, 
who  has  flattened  himself  lengthwise  against 
a lichen-covered  branch  until  you  cannot  tell 
bird  from  bark.  Or  he  may  be  on  a rock  or  an 
old,  mossy  log,  where  he  rests  serene  in  the 
knowledge  that  his  mottled,  dull  dark-brown, 
gray,  buff,  black  and  white  feathers  blend 
perfectly  with  his  resting  place.  He  must 
choose  a spot  broad  enough  to  support  his 
175 


176  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

whole  body,  for,  like  his  cousin,  the  nighthawk, 
and  his  more  distant  relatives,  the  humming- 
bird and  the  swift,  his  feet  are  too  small  and 
weak  for  much  perching.  You  never  see  him 
standing  erect  on  a twig  with  his  toes  clasped 
around  it,  but  always  squatting  when  at  rest. 

A narrow  white  band  across  his  throat  makes 
his  depressed  head  look  as  if  it  had  been  sepa- 
rated from  his  body — a queer  effect  that  may 
remind  you  of  the  Cheshire  Cat  in  “Alice  in 
Wonderland. ’ ’ The  whip-poor-will’s  three  outer 
tail  feathers  have  white  ends  which  help  to 
distinguish  him  from  the  nighthawk.  He  has 
a funny  little  short  beak,  but  his  large  mouth 
stretches  from  ear  to  ear,  and  when  he  flies 
low  above  the  fields  after  sunset,  this  trap  is 
kept  open,  like  the  swift’s  and  the  swallow’s, 
to  catch  any  night-flying  insects — ^mosquitoes, 
June  bugs,  gnats,  katydids  and  little  moths — 
that  cross  his  path.  Long,  stiffened  bristles 
at  the  ends  of  his  mouth  prevent  the  escape 
of  a victim  past  the  gaping  trap.  On  the  wing 
the  bird  is  exceedingly  swift  and  graceful.  Some 
children  mistake  him  for  a bat  or  a night- 
hawk. 

Relying  upon  the  protective  covering  of  her 
soft  plumage,  the  mother  whip-poor-will  builds 
no  nest,  but  lays  a pair  of  mottled  eggs  directly 
on  the  ground  in  the  dark  woods  where  a carpet 
of  dead  leaves  and  decayed  wood  makes  con- 


Least  flycatchers  in  a rose  bush 


Nighthawk  resting  in  the 


Nighthawk 


177 


cealment  perfect.  Not  even  the  ovenbird  con- 
trives that  a peep  at  her  eggs  shall  be  so  difficult 
for  us.  It  is  next  to  impossible  to  find  them. 
Unlike  the  wicked  cowbird,  who  builds  no  nest 
because  she  has  no  maternal  instinct,  the  whip- 
poor-will,  who  is  a devoted  mother,  makes  none 
because  none  is  needed.  Once  I happened  upon 
two  fuzzy,  dark,  yellowish-gray,  baby  whip-poor- 
wills  (mostly  mouths)  in  a hollow  of  a decayed, 
lichen-covered  log,  which  was  their  “comfy” 
cradle ; but  the  frantic  mother,  who  flopped  and 
tumbled  about  on  the  ground  around  them, 
whining  like  a puppy,  sent  me  running  away 
from  sheer  pity. 

In  the  Southern  States  a somewhat  larger 
whip-poor-will,  but  with  the  same  habits,  is 
known  as  chuck-will’s-widow. 


NIGHTHAWK 

Called  also:  Bull-hat;  Night-jar;  Mosquito-hawk 

Did  you  ever  hear  a rushing,  whirring,  boom- 
ing sound  as  though  wind  were  blowing 
across  the  btmg-hole  of  an  empty  barrel?  The 
nighthawk,  who  makes  it,  is  such  a high  flyer^ 
that  in  the  dusk  of  the  late  afternoon  or  early 
evening,  when  he  delights  to  sail  abroad  to  get 
his  dinner,  you  cannot  always  see  him;  but  as 


178  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

he  coasts  down  from  the  sky — not  on  a sled, 
but  on  his  half-closed  wings — with  tremendous 
speed,  the  rush  of  air  through  his  stiff,  long 
wing  feathers  makes  an  uncanny,  asolian  music 
that  silly,  superstitious  people  have  declared 
is  a bad  omen.  You  might  think  he  would 
dash  out  his  brains  in  such  a headlong  dive 
through  the  air,  but  before  he  hits  the  earth, 
a sudden  turn  saves  him  and  off  he  goes  un- 
harmed, skimming  above  the  ground  and  catch- 
ing insects  after  the  whip-poor-will’s  manner. 
He  lacks  the  helpful  bristles  at  the  ends  of  his 
fly-trap.  Don’t  imagine,  because  of  his  name, 
that  he  flies  about  only  at  night.  He  is  not 
so  nocturnal  in  his  habits  as  the  whip-poor-will. 
Toward  the  end  of  summer,  especially,  he  may 
be  seen  coursing  over  the  open  country  at 
almost  any  hour  of  the  day.  Once  in  a while, 
as  he  hunts,  he  calls  peent — a sharp  cry  that 
reminds  you  of  the  meadowlark’s  nasal  call- 
note.  Presently,  mounting  upward  higher  and 
higher,  at  the  leisurely  rate  of  a boy  dragging 
his  sled  up  hill,  he  seems  to  reach  the  very 
clouds,  when  down  he  coasts  again,  faster  than 
a boy’s  flexible  flyer.  Listen  for  the  booming 
noise  of  this  coaster!  Evidently  he  enjoys  the 
sport  as  much  as  any  boy  or  girl,  for  he  repeats 
his  sky-coasting  very  often  without  having  to 
wait  for  a snow-storm.  Indeed,  when  winter 
comes,  he  is  enjoying  another  summer  in  South 


Nighthawk  179 

America.  Life  without  insects  would  be  im- 
possible for  him. 

When  he  is  coursing  low  above  the  fields, 
with  quick,  erratic,  bat-like  turns,  notice  the 
white  spots,  almost  forming  a bar  across  his 
wings,  for  they  will  help  you  to  distinguish  him 
from  the  whip-poor-will,  who  carries  his  white 
signals  on  the  outer  feathers  of  his  tail.  Both 
of  these  cousins  wear  the  sarhe  coldurs,  only 
they  put  them  on  differently,  the  whip-poor-will 
having  his  chiefly  mottled,  the  nighthawk  his 
chiefly  barred.  The  latter  wears  a broader 
white  band  across  his  throat.  His  mate  sub- 
stitutes buff  for  his  white  decorations. 

Like  the  mother  whip-poor-will,  she  makes 
no  nest  but  places  her  two  speckled  treasures 
in  some  sunny  spot,  either  on  the  bare  ground, 
on  a rock,  or  even  on  the  flat  roof  of  a house. 
Since  electric  lights  attract  so  many  insects 
to  the  streets  of  towns  and  villages,  the  enter- 
prising nighthawk  often  forsakes  the  country 
to  rear  her  children  where  they  may  enjoy  the 
benefits  of  modern  improvements. 

Both  the  nighthawk  and  the  whip-poor-will 
belong  to  the  goatsucker  family.  Did  you  ever 
hear  a more  ridiculous  name  ? Eighty-five 
innocent  birds  of  this  tribe,  found  in  most  parts 
of  the  world,  have  to  bear  it  because  some  care- 
less observer  may  have  seen  one  of  their  number 
flying  among  a herd  of  goats  in  Europe  to  catch 


i8o  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

the  insects  on  them,  just  as  cowbirds  follow 
our  cattle;  and  he  imagined  the  bird  was 
actually  drinking  the  goat’s  milk! 


CHIMNEY  SWIFT 

There  are  some  children,  and  grown-ups,  too, 
who  persist  in 'calling  this  bird  the  chimney 
swallow,  although  it  is  not  even  remotely 
related  to  the  swallow  family,  and  its  life  his- 
tory, as  well  as  its  anatomy,  are  quite  different 
from  a swallow’s,  as  you  shall  see. 

Down  within  some  unused  chimney,  the 
modem  babies  of  this  soot-coloured,  dark, 
grayish-brown  bird  first  open  their  eyes.  Old- 
fashioned  swifts  still  nest  in  hollow  trees  or 
caves,  but  chimneys  are  so  much  more  abundant 
and  convenient,  that  up-to-date  birds  prefer 
them.  Without  stopping  in  their  flight,  the 
parent  swifts  snap  off  with  their  beaks  or  feet, 
little  twigs  at  the  ends  of  dead  branches,  and 
these  they  carry,  one  by  one,  into  a chimney, 
gluing  them  against  the  side  until  they  have 
finished  an  almost  flat,  shelf -like,  lattice  cradle. 
Where  do  they  get  their  glue?  Only  during 
the  nesting  season  do  certain  glands  in  their 
mouths  flow  a brownish  fluid  that  quickly  gums 
and  hardens  when  exposed  to  the  air.  After 
nursery  duties  have  ended,  the  gland  shrinks 


A chimney  swift  at  rest 


Hummingbird  pumping  food  into  her  babies’  crops 


Twin  ruby  throats 


Chimney  Swift  i8i 

from  disuse.  When  the  basket  cradle  has 
been  stuck  against  a chimney-side,  it  looks  as 
if  it  were  covered  with  a thin  coat  of  isinglass. 
On  this  lattice  from  four  to  six  white  eggs  are 
laid.  A friend,  who  innocently  started  a fire 
in  his  library  one  cold,  rainy  mid-summer  even- 
ing, was  startled  and  shocked  when  a nest  and 
eggs  suddenly  fell  on  the  hearth.  He  had  no 
idea  birds  were  nesting  in  his  chimney.  The 
rush  of  their  wings  he  had  thought  was  the  wind. 
Of  course  the  fire  melted  the  glue,  when  down 
fell  the  cradle.  Happily  there  were  no  “ babies 
and  all”  to  tumble  into  the  flames. 

When  the  baby  swifts  are  old  enough  to 
climb  out  of  the  lattice,  they  still  cling  near 
it  for  about  a fortnight  waiting  for  their  wings 
to  grow  strong,  before  they  try  to  leave  the 
chimney.  Apparently  they  hang  themselves 
up  to  go  to  sleep.  Shouldn’t  you  think  they 
would  fall  on  the  hearth  down  stairs?  Doubt- 
less they  would  but  for  their  short,  thin,  stiff- 
pointed  tail  feathers  which  help  to  prop  them 
up  where  they  cling  to  the  rough  bricks  and 
mortar  of  the  chimney  lining.  Woodpeckers 
also  prop  themselves  with  their  tail  feathers, 
but  against  tree  trunks.  Not  until  swifts  are 
a month  old  do  the  lazy  little  fellows  climb  out 
of  their  deep,  dark  cavern  into  the  boundless 
sky,  which  is  their  true  home.  No  birds  are 
more  tireless,  rapid  flyers  than  they.  Their 


i82  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

small  feet,  weak  from  disuse,  could  scarcely 
hold  them  on  a perch. 

One  day  last  July  I picked  up  on  the  ground 
a young  swift  I thought  had  dropped  from  ex- 
haustion in  its  first  flight.  As  swifts  had  been 
nesting  in  one  of  the  chimneys,  I carried  the 
young  bird  in  my  hand  into  the  house,  up 
stairs,  out  through  an  attic  window  onto  the 
roof,  climbed  along  the  ridgepole  in  terror  for 
my  life,  clinging  by  only  one  free  hand  to  the 
peak  of  the  roof,  and  at  last  reached  the  sv/ift’s 
chimney.  Laying  the  sooty  youngster  on  the 
stone  chimney-cap  I had  crawled  cautiously 
backward  only  a few  feet,  when  lo ! my  charge 
suddenly  bounded  off  into  the  air  like  a veteran 
to  join  a flock  of  companions  playing  cross-tag. 
As  it  wheeled  and  darted  above  the  house, 
evidently  quite  as  much  at  ease  in  the  air  as 
any  of  the  merry,  twittering  company,  don’t 
you  believe  it  started  the  laugh  on  me?  But 
what  had  brought  so  able  a young  flyer  to 
earth?  My  wounded  vanity  tempts  me  to  be- 
lieve that  it  had  really  dropped  from  fatigue 
and,  once  on  the  ground,  was  unable  to  rise 
again,  whereas  it  was  comparatively  easy  to 
launch  itself  from  the  chimney-top. 

With  mouths  agape  from  ear  to  ear,  the 
swifts  draw  in  an  insect  dinner  piecemeal,  as 
they  course  through  the  air,  just  as  the  whip- 
poor-will,  nighthawk  and  swallows  do.  For- 


Ruby-throated  Hummingbird  183 

tunate  the  house  where  a colony  elect  to  live, 
for  they  rid  the  air  of  myriads  of  gnats  and 
mosquitoes,  as  they  fly  about  overhead,  sil- 
houetted against  the  sky.  Early  in  the  morning 
and  late  in  the  afternoon  are  their  hours  for 
exercise.  You  will  think,  perhaps,  that  they 
look  more  like  bats  than  birds.  Watch  their 
rapid  wing-beats  very  closely  and  see  if  you  can 
settle  the  mooted  question  as  to  whether  they 
use  both  wings  at  once,  or  first  one  wing  and 
then  the  other  in  alternate  strokes.  After  you 
have  noticed  their  peculiar,  throbbing  flight, 
you  will  never  again  confuse  them  with  the 
graceful,  gliding  swallows.  Although  the  swift 
is  actually  shorter  than  a sparrow,  its  spread 
wings  measure  over  a foot  across  from  tip  to 
tip.  No  wonder  it  can  fly  every  waking  mo- 
ment without  feeling  tired,  and  journey  from 
Labrador  to  Central  America  for  a winter 
holiday. 


RUBY-THROATED  HUMMINGBIRD 

What  child  does  not  know  the  hummingbird, 
the  jewelled  midget  that  flashes  through  the 
garden,  poises  before  a flower  as  if  suspended 
in  the  air  by  magic,  thrusts  a needle-like  bill  into 
one  cup  of  nectar  after  another,  then  whirs 
off  out  of  sight  in  a trice?  It  is  the  smallest 


184  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

bird  we  have.  Suppose  a fairy  wished  to 
pluck  one  for  her  dinner,  as  we  should  pluck  a 
chicken;  how  large,  do  you  think,  would  be 
the  actual  body  of  a hummingbird,  without 
its  feathers?  Not  much,  if  any,  larger  than 
a big  bumble-bee,  I venture  to  guess.  Yet 
this  atom  of  animation  travels  from  Panama 
to  Quebec  or  beyond,  and  back  again  every 
year  of  its  brief  life,  that  it  may  live  where 
flowers,  and  the  minute  insects  that  infest  them, 
will  furnish  drink  and  meat  the  year  arotmd. 
So  small  a speck  of  a traveller  cannot  be  seen 
in  the  sky  by  an  enemy  with  the  sharpest  of 
eyes.  Space  quickly  swallows  it.  A second 
after  it  has  left  your  garden  it  will  be  out  of 
sight.  This  mite  of  a migrant  has  plenty 
of  stay-at-home  relatives  in  the  tropics — ex- 
quisite creatures  they  are — ^but  the  ruby-throat 
is  the  only  hummingbird  bold  enough  to  venture 
into  the  eastern  United  States  and  Canada. 

What  tempts  him  so  far  north?  You  know 
that  certain  flowers  depend  upon  certain  insect 
friends  to  carry  their  pollen  from  blossom  to 
blossom  that  they  may  set  fertile  seed ; but  did 
you  know  that  certain  other  flowers  depend 
upon  the  hummingbird  ? Only  his  tongue, 
that  may  be  run  out  beyond  his  long,  slender 
bill  and  turned  around  curves,  could  reach  the 
drops  of  nectar  in  the  tips  of  the  wild  colum- 
bine’s five  inverted  horns  of  plenty.  The 


Ruby-throated  Hummingbird  185 

Monarda  or  bee-balm,  too,  hides  a sweet  sip 
in  each  of  its  red  tubes  for  his  special  benefit. 
So  does  the  coral  honeysuckle.  There  are  a 
few  other  flowers  that  cater  to  him,  especially, 
by  wearing  his  favotnite  colour,  by  hiding 
nectar  so  deep  that  only  his  long  tongue  can 
drain  it,  and  by  opening  in  orderly  succession 
so  that  he  shall  fare  well  throughout  the  sum- 
mer, not  have  a feast  one  month  and  a famine 
the  next.  In  addition  to  these  flowers  in 
Nature’s  garden  that  minister  to  his  needs, 
many  that  have  been  brought  from  the  ends  of 
the  earth  to  our  garden  plots  please  him  no  less. 
The  canna,  nasturtium,  phlox,  trumpet-flower, 
salvia,  and  a host  of  others,  delight  his  eye  and 
his  palate.  Don’t  you  think  it  is  worth  while 
to  plant  his  favourites  in  yoxxr  garden  if  only 
for  the  joy  of  seeing  him  about?  He  is  wonder- 
fully neighbourly,  coming  to  the  flower-beds 
or  window-boxes  with  undaunted  familiarity 
in  the  presence  of  the  family.  A hummingbird 
that  lived  in  my  garden  sipped  from  a sprig  of 
honeysuckle  that  I held  in  my  hand.  But  the 
bird  is  not  always  so  amiable  by  any  means.  A 
fierce  duellist,  he  will  lunge  his  rapier-like  bill 
at  another  hummer  with  deadly  thrusts.  A 
battle  of  the  midgets  in  mid-air  is  a sorry  sight. 

You  may  know  a male  by  the  brilliant 
metallic-red  feathers  on  his  throat.  His  mate 
lacks  these,  but  her  brilliancy  has  another 


1 86  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

outlet,  for  she  is  one  of  the  most  expert  nest- 
builders  in  the  world.  An  exquisitely  dainty 
little  cup  of  plant  down,  felted  into  a compact 
cradle  and  stuccoed  \vith  bits  of  lichen  bound  on 
by  spider-web,  can  scarcely  be  told  from  a knot 
on  the  limb  to  which  it  is  fastened.  Two  eggs, 
not  larger  than  beans,  in  time  give  place  to  two 
downy  hummers  about  the  size  of  honey-bees. 
Perhaps  you  have  seen  pigeons  pump  food 
down  the  throats  of  their  squabs?  In  this  same 
way  are  baby  hummingbirds  fed.  After  about 
three  weeks  in  the  nest,  the  young  are  ready 
to  fly ; but  they  rest  on  perches  the  first  month 
of  their  independence  more  than  at  any  time 
afterward.  No  weak-footed  relative  of  the 
swift  could  live  long  off  the  wing.  It  is  good- 
bye to  summer  when  the  last  hummingbird 
forsakes  our  frost-nipped,  northern  gardens  for 
happier  hunting  grounds  far  away. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


NON-UNION  CARPENTERS 

Downy  Woodpecker 
Hairy  Woodpecker 
Yellow-bellied  Sapsucker 
Red-headed  Woodpecker 
Flicker 


OUR  FIVE  COMMON  WOODPECKERS 


TF,  AS  you  walk  through  some  old  orchard 
or  along  the  borders  of  a woodland  tan- 
gle, you  see  a high-shouldered,  stocky  bird 
clinging  fast  to  the  side  of  a tree  “ as  if  he  had 
been  thrown  at  it  and  stuck,”  you  may  be  very 
sure  he  is  a woodpecker.  Four  of  our  five 
common,  non-union  carpenters  wear  striking 
black  and  white  suits,  patched  or  striped,  the 
males  with  red  on  their  heads,  their  wives  with 
less  of  this  jaunty  touch  of  colour  perhaps,  or 
none,  but  wearing  otherwise  similar  clothes. 
Only  the  dainty  little  black  and  white  creeping 
warbler  could  possibly  be  confused  with  the 
smallest  of  these  sturdy,  matter-of-fact  artisans, 
although,  as  you  know,  chickadees,  titmice, 
nuthatches  and  kinglets  also  haunt  the  bark  of 
trees;  but  the  largest  of  these  is  smaller  than 
downy,  the  smallest  of  the  woodpeckers.  One  of 
the  carpenters,  the  big  flicker,  an  original 
fellow,  is  dressed  in  soft  browns,  yellow,  white 
and  black,  with  the  characteristic  red  patch 
across  the  back  of  his  neck. 

It  is  easy  to  tell  a woodpecker  at  sight  or 
even  beyond  it,  when  you  see  or  hear  him  ham- 
mering for  a dinner,  or  drumming  a love  song, 
189 


iQo  Birds  Every  Child  Shoidd  Know 

or  chiselling  out  a home  in  some  partly  decayed 
tree.  How  cheerfully  his  vigorous  taps  resound ! 
Hammer,  chisel,  pick,  drill,  and  drum — all  these 
instruments  in  one  stout  bill — and  a flexible 
barbed  spear  for  a tongue  that  may  be  run  out 
far  beyond  his  bill,  like  the  hummingbird’s, 
make  the  woodpecker  the  best-equipped  work- 
man in  the  woods.  All  the  other  birds  that 
pick  insect  eggs,  grubs,  beetles  and  spiders  from 
the  bark  could  go  all  over  a tree  and  feast,  but 
the  woodpecker  might  follow  them  and  still 
find  plenty  left,  borers  especially,  hidden  so 
deep  that  only  his  sticky,  barbed  tongue  could 
drag  them  out. 

As  you  see  his  body  flattened  against  the 
tree’s  side  perhaps  you  wonder  why  he  doesn’t 
fall  off.  Do  you  remember  why  the  swifts, 
that  sleep  against  the  inside  walls  of  oiir  chim- 
neys, do  not  fall  down  to  the  hearths  below? 
Like  them  and  the  bobolink,  the  woodpeckers 
prop  themselves  by  their  outspread,  stiffened 
tails.  Moreover,  they  have  their  toes  arranged 
in  a curious  way — two  in  front  and  two  behind, 
so  that  they  can  hold  on  to  a section  of  bark 
very  much  as  an  iceman  holds  a piece  of  ice 
between  his  tongs.  Smooth  bark  conceals  no 
larvae  nor  does  it  offer  a foothold,  which  is  why 
you  are  likely  to  see  woodpeckers  only  on  the 
trunks  or  the  larger  limbs  of  trees  where  old, 
scaly  bark  grows. 


Downy  Woodpecker 


191 


DOWNY  WOODPECKER 

A hardy  little  friend  is  the  downy  wood- 
pecker who,  like  the  chickadee,  stays  by  us  the 
year  around.  Probably  no  other  two  birds  are 
so  useful  in  our  orchards  as  these,  that  keep  up 
a tireless  search  for  the  insect  robbers  of  our 
fruit.  Wintry  weather  can  be  scarcely  too 
severe  for  either,  for  both  wear  a warm  coat  of 
fat  under  their  skins  and  both  have  the  com- 
fort of  a snug  retreat  when  bitter  blasts  blow. 

Friend  downy  is  too  good  a carpenter,  you 
may  be  sure,  to  neglect  making  a cozy  cavity  for 
himself  in  autumn,  just  as  the  hairy  wood- 
pecker does.  The  chickadee,  titmouse,  nut- 
hatch, bluebird,  wren,  tree  swallow,  sparrow 
hawk,  crested  flycatcher  and  owls,  are  not  the 
only  birds  that  are  thankful  to  occupy  his  snug 
quarters  in  some  old  tree  after  he  has  moved 
out  in  the  spring  to  the  new  nursery  that  his 
mate  and  he  make  for  their  family.  He  knows 
the  advantage  of  a southern  exposure  for  his 
hoUow  home  and  chisels  his  winter  quarters 
deep  enough  to  escape  a draught.  Here  he  lives 
in  single  blessedness — or  selfishness? — with  no 
thought  now  for  the  comfort  of  his  mate,  who, 
happily,  is  quite  as  good  a carpenter  as  he, 
and  as  able  to  care  for  herself.  She  may  make 
a winter  home  or  keep  the  nursery. 


192  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Very  early  in  the  spring  you  will  hear  the 
downy,  like  the  other  woodpeckers,  beating  a 
rolling  tattoo  on  some  resonant  limb,  and  if  you 
can  creep  close  enough  you  will  see  his  head 
hammering  so  fast  that  there  is  only  a blur 
above  his  shoulders.  This  drumming  is  his  love 
song.  The  grouse  is  even  a more  wonderful  per- 
former, for  he  drums  without  a drum,  which  no 
woodpecker  can  do.  The  woodpecker  drums  not 
only  to  win  a mate,  however,  but  to  tell  where 
a tree  is  decayed  and  likely  to  be  an  easy  spot 
to  chisel,  and  also  to  startle  borers  beneath  the 
bark,  that  he  may  know  just  where  to  tunnel 
for  them,  when  they  move  with  a faint  noise, 
which  his  sharp  ears  instantly  detect. 

This  master  workman,  who  is  scarcely  larger 
than  an  English  sparrow,  occasionally  pauses 
in  his  hammering  long  enough  to  utter  a short, 
sharp  peek,  peek,  often  continued  into  a rat- 
tling cry  that  ends  as  abruptly  as  it  began. 
You  may  know  him  from  his  larger  and  louder- 
voiced  cousin,  the  hairy  woodpecker,  not  only 
by  this  call  note,  but  by  the  markings  of  the 
outer  tail  feathers,  which,  in  the  downy,  are 
white  barred  with  black;  and  in  the  hairy,  are 
white  without  the  black  bars.  Both  birds  are 
much  striped  and  barred  with  black  and  white. 

When  the  weather  grows  cold,  hang  a bone 
with  a little  meat  on  it,  cooked  or  raw,  or  a 
lixmp  of  suet  in  some  tree  beyond  the  reach  of 


Our  little  friend  downy 


The  red-headed  woodpecker 


Hairy  Woodpecker 


193 


■cats ; then  watch  for  the  downy  woodpecker’s 
and  the  chickadee’s  visits  to  your  free-lunch 
counter. 


HAIRY  WOODPECKER 

Light  woods,  with  plenty  of  old  trees  in  them, 
suit  this  busy  carpenter  better  than  orchards  or 
trees  close  to  our  homes,  for  he  is  more  shy  than 
his  sociable  little  cousin,  downy,  whom  he  as 
closely  resembles  in  feathers  as  in  habits.  He 
is  three  inches  longer,  however,  yet  smaller  than 
a robin.  In  spite  of  his  name,  he  is  covered 
with  black  and  white  feathers,  not  hairs.  He 
has  a hairy  stripe  only  down  the  middle  of  his 
broadly  striped  back. 

After  he  and  his  mate  have  decided  to  go  to 
housekeeping,  they  select  a tree — a hollow- 
hearted  or  partly  decayed  one  is  preferred — and 
begin  the  hard  work  of  cutting  out  a deep  cavity. 
Try  to  draw  freehand  a circle  by  making  a 
series  of  dots,  as  the  woodpecker  outlines  his 
round  front  door,  and  see,  if  you  please,  whether 
you  can  make  so  perfect  a ring.  Downy’s  en- 
trance need  be  only  an  inch  and  a half  across; 
the  hairy’s  must  be  a little  larger,  and  the 
flicker  requires  a hole  about  four  inches  in 
diameter  to  admit  his  big  body.  Both  mates 
work  in  turn  at  the  nest  hole.  How  the  chips 
fly ! Braced  in  position  by  stiff  tail  feathers  and 


194  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

clinging  by  his  stout  toes,  the  woodpecker  keeps 
hammering  and  chiselling  at  his  home  more 
hours  every  day  than  a labour  union  would 
allow.  Two  inches  of  digging  with  his  strong 
combination  tool  means  a hard  day’s  work. 
The  hole  usually  runs  straight  in  for  a few  inches, 
then  curves  downward  into  a pear-shaped 
chamber  large  enough  for  a comfortable  nursery. 
A week  or  ten  days  may  be  spent  by  a couple  in 
making  it.  The  chips  by  which  this  good  work- 
man is  known  are  left  on  the  nursery  floor,  for 
woodpeckers  do  not  pamper  their  babies  with 
fine  grasses,  feathers  or  fur  cradle  linings,  as 
the  chickadee  and  some  other  birds  do.  A 
well-regulated  woodpecker’s  nest  contains  five 
glossy-white  eggs. 

Sheltered  from  the  rain,  wind  and  sun,  hidden 
from  almost  every  enemy  except  the  red 
squirrel,  woodpecker  babies  lie  secure  in  their 
dark,  warm  nursery,  with  no  excitement  ex- 
cept the  visits  of  their  parents  with  a fat  grub. 
Then  how  quickly  they  scramble  up  the  walls 
toward  the  light  and  dinner! 

YELLOW-BELLIED  SAPSUCKER 

This  woodpecker  I am  sorry  to  introduce  to 
you  as  the  black  sheep  of  his  family,  with 
scarcely  a friend  to  speak  a good  word  for  him. 


Yellow-bellied  Sapsucker 


195 


Murder  is  committed  on  his  immensely  useful 
relatives,  who  have  the  misfortune  to  look 
ever  so  little  like  him,  simply  because  ignorant 
people’s  minds  are  firmly  fixed  in  the  belief  that 
every  woodpecker  is  a sapsucker,  therefore  a 
tree-killer,  which  only  this  miscreant  is,  and 
very  rarely.  The  rest  of  the  family  who  drill 
holes  in  a tree  harmlessly,  even  beneficially,  do 
so  because  they  are  probing  for  insects.  The 
sapsucker  alone  drills  rings  or  belts  of  holes  for 
the  sake  of  getting  at  the  soft  inner  bark  and 
drinking  the  sap  that  trickles  from  it. 

Mrs.  Eckstorm,  who  has  made  a careful  study 
of  the  woodpeckers  in  a charming  little  book 
that  every  child  should  read,  tells  of  a certain 
sapsucker  that  came  silently  and  early  in  the 
autumn  mornings  to  feed  on  a favourite  moun- 
tain ash  tree  near  her  dining-room  window.  In 
time  this  rascal  killed  the  tree.  “ Early  in  the 
day  he  showed  considerable  activity,”  writes 
Mrs.  Eckstorm,  ‘‘flitting  from  limb  to  limb  and 
sinking  a few  holes,  three  or  four  in  a' row,  usuab 
ly  above  the  previous  upper  girdle  ofi  the  limbs 
he  selected  to  work  upomTlAfter  he  had  tapped 
several  limbs,  he  would csit  ' patiently  waiting 
for  the  sap  to  flow;  lapping' it;  up  quickly  when 
the  drop  was  large  endughi  At  first  he  would 
be  nervous,  taking  alarm  at  noises  apd  wheeling 
away  on;;hjs;>brGad  win^  till  , his  fright  was 
over,  when  he  would  steal  quietly  back  to  his 


196  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

sapholes.  When  not  alarmed,  his  only  movement 
was  from  one  row  of  holes  to  another,  and  he 
tended  them  with  considerable  regularity.  As 
the  day  wore  on  he  became  less  excitable,  and 
clung  cloddishly  to  his  tree  trunk  with  ever  in- 
creasing torpidity,  until  finally  he  hung  motion- 
less as  if  intoxicated,  tippling  in  sap,  a 
dishevelled,  smutty,  silent  bird,  stupefied  with 
drink,  with  none  of  that  brilliancy  of  plumage 
and  light-hearted  gaiety  which  made  him  the 
noisiest  and  most  conspicuous  bird  of  our 
April  woods.” 

But  it  must  be  admitted  that  very  rarely  does 
the  sapsucker  girdle  a tree  with  holes  enough  to 
sap  away  its  life.  He  may  have  an  orgie  of  in- 
temperance once  in  awhile,  but  much  should  be 
forgiven  a bird  as  dexterous  as  a flycatcher  in 
taking  insects  on  the  wing  and  with  a hearty 
appetite  for  pests.  Wild  fruit  and  soft-shelled 
nuts  he  likes  too.  He  never  bores  a tree  to  get 
insects  as  his  cousins  do,  for  only  when  a nest 
must  be  chiselled  out  is  he  a wood  pecker  in  the 
strict  sense. 

You  may  know  this  erring  one  by  the  pale, 
sulphur-yellow  tinge  on  his  white  under  parts, 
the  white  patch  above  the  tail  on  his  mottled 
black  and  white  back,  his  spotted  wings  with 
conspicuous  white  coverts,  the  broad  black  patch 
on  his  breast  extending  to  the  comers  of  his 
mouth  in  a chin  strap,  and  the  lines  of  crimso* 


Red-headed  Woodpecker 


197 


on  forehead,  crown,  chin  and  throat.  He  is 
smaller  than  a robin  by  two  inches,  yet  larger 
than  the  English  sparrow,  who  shares  with  him 
a vast  amount  of  public  condemnation. 


RED-HEADED  WOODPECKER 

A pair  of  red-headed  woodpeckers  I know,  who 
made  their  home  in  an  old  tree  next  the  station 
yard  at  Atlanta,  where  locomotives  clanged, 
puffed,  whistled  and  shrieked  all  day  long, 
evidently  enjoyed  the  noise,  for  the  male  liked 
nothing  better  than  to  add  to  it  by  tapping  on 
one  of  the  glass  non-conductors  around  which 
a telegraph  wire  ran.  When  first  I saw  the 
handsome,  tri-coloured  fellow  he  was  almost 
enveloped  in  a cloud  of  smoke  escaping  from 
a puffing  locomotive  on  the  track  next  the  tele- 
graph pole,  yet  he  tapped  away  unconcerned 
and  as  merrily  as  you  would  play  a two-step  on 
the  piano.  When  the  vapour  blew  away,  his 
glossy  bluish  black  and  white  feathers,  laid  on 
in  big  patches,  were  almost  as  conspicuous  as 
his  red  head,  throat  and  upper  breast.  His  mate 
is  red-headed,  too. 

All  the  woodpeckers  have  musical  tastes.  A 
flicker  comes  to  my  verandah  to  tap  a galvan- 
ised rain  gutter,  for  no  other  reason  than  the 
excellent  one  that  he  enjoys  the  sound.  Tin 


198  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

roofs  everywhere  are  popular  tapping  places. 
Certain  dry,  dead,  seasoned  limbs  of  hardwood 
trees  resound  better  than  others  and  a wood- 
pecker in  love  is  sure  to  find  out  the  best  one  in 
the  spring  when  he  beats  a rolling  tattoo  in  the 
hope  of  charming  his  best  beloved.  He  has  no 
need  to  sing,  which  is  why  he  doesn’t. 

Fence  posts  are  the  red-head’s  favourite  rest- 
ing places.  From  these  he  will  make  sudden 
sallies  in  mid-air,  like  a fly-catcher,  after  a pass- 
ing insect;  then  return  to  his  post. 

You  remember  that  the  blue  jay  has  the 
thrifty  habit  of  storing  nuts  for  the  proverbial 
rainy  day,  and  that  the  shrike  hangs  up  his 
meat  to  cure  on  a thorn  tree  like  a butcher. 
Red-headed  woodpeckers,  who  are  especially 
fond  of  beechnuts,  acorns  and  grasshoppers, 
hide  them  away,  squirrel  fashion,  in  tree  cavi- 
ties, in  fence  holes,  crevices  in  old  barns,  be- 
tween shingles  on  the  roof,  behind  bulging 
boards,  in  the  ends  of  railroad  ties,  in  all  sorts 
of  queer  places,  to  feast  upon  them  in  winter 
when  the  land  is  lean.  Who  knows  whether 
other  woodpeckers  have  hoarding  places?  The 
sapsucker,  the  hairy  and  the  downy  wood- 
peckers also  like  beechnuts ; the  flicker  prefers 
acoms;  but  do  they  store  them  for  winter  use? 
The  red-head’s  thrifty  habit  was  only  recently 
discovered:  has  it  been  only  recently  acquired? 
It  must  be  simpler  to  store  the  summer’s  sur- 


The  sapsucker 


Baby  flickers  just  out  of  their  hole 


Flicker 


199 


plus  than  to  travel  to  a land  of  plenty  when 
winter  comes.  Heretofore  this  red-headed 
cousin  has  been  reckoned  a migratory  member 
of  the  home-loving  woodpecker  clan,  but  only 
where  he  could  not  find  plenty  of  beechnuts  to 
keep  him  through  the  winter. 


FLICKER 

Called  also:  High-hole;  Clape;  Golden-winged 
Woodpecker;  Yellow-hammer;  Yucker 

Why  should  the  flicker  discard  family  tradi- 
tions and  wear  clothes  so  different  from  those 
of  his  relations?  His  upper  parts  are  dusty 
brown,  narrowly  barred  with  black,  and  the 
large  white  patch  on  his  lower  back,  so  con- 
spicuous as  he  flies  from  you,  is  one  of  the  best 
marks  of  identification  on  his  big  handsome 
body.  His  head  is  graj'’  with  a black  streak 
below  the  eye,  and  a scarlet  band  across  the 
nape  of  the  neck,  while  the  upper  side  of  the 
wing  feathers  is  black  relieved  by  golden  shafts. 
Underneath,  the  wings  are  a lovely  golden  yel- 
low, seen  only  when  the  bird  flies  toward  you. 
His  breast,  which  is  a pale,  pinkish  brown,  is 
divided  from  the  throat  by  a black  crescent, 
smaller  than  the  meadowlark’s,  and  below  this 
half-moon  of  jet  there  are  many  black  spots. 


200  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

He  is  quite  a little  larger  than  a robin,  the  larg- 
est and  the  commonest  of  our  five  non-union 
carpenters. 

See  him  feeding  on  the  ground  instead  of  on 
the  striped  and  mottled  tree  trunks,  where  his 
black  and  white  striped  relatives  are  usually 
found,  and  you  will  realise  that  he  wears  brown 
clothes,  finely  barred,  because  they  harmonise 
so  perfectly  with  the  brown  earth.  What  does 
he  find  on  the  ground  that  keeps  him  there  so 
much  of  the  time?  Look  at  the  spot  he  has 
just  flown  from  and  you  will  doubtless  find  ants. 
These  are  chiefly  his  diet.  Three  thousand 
of  them,  for  a single  meal,  he  has  been  known 
to  lick  out  of  a hill  with  his  long,  round, 
extensile,  sticky  tongue.  Evidently  this  lusty 
fellow  needs  no  tonic.  His  tail,  which  is 
less  rounded  than  his  cousins’,  proves  that 
he  has  little  need  to  prop  himself  against  tree 
trunks  to  pick  out  a dinner;  and  his  curved 
bill,  which  is  more  of  a pickaxe  than  a hammer, 
drill,  or  chisel,  is  little  used  as  a carpenter’s  tool 
except  when  a nest  is  to  be  dug  out  of  soft, 
decayed  wood.  Although  he  can  beat  a rolling 
tattoo  in  the  spring,  he  has  a variety  of  call 
notes  for  use  the  year  through.  Did  you  ever 
see  the  funny  fellow  spread  his  tail  and  dance 
when  he  goes  courting?  Flickers  condescend 
to  use  old  holes  deserted  by  their  relatives  who 
possess  better  tools.  You  must  have  noticed 


Flicker 


201 


all  through  these  bird  biographies  that  the 
structure  and  colouring  of  every  bird  are 
adapted  to  its  kind  of  life,  each  member  of  the 
same  family  varying  according  to  its  habits. 
The  kind  of  food  a bird  eats  and  its  method  of 
getting  it,  of  course,  bring  about  most,  if  not 
all,  of  the  variations  from  the  family  type. 
Each  is  fitted  for  its  own  life,  “even  as 
you  and  I.” 

Like  your  pet  pigeon,  the  hummingbird, 
and  several  other  birds,  parent  flickers  pump 
partly  digested  food  from  their  own  stomachs 
into  those  of  their  hungry  babies.  Imagine 
how  many  trips  would  have  to  be  taken  to  a 
nest  if  ants  were  carried  there  one  by  one! 
How  can  the  birds  be  sure  they  will  not  thrust 
their  bills  through  the  eyes  of  their  blind,  naked 
and  helpless  babies  in  so  dark  a hole?  It  must 
be  very  difficult  to  find  the  mouths  and  be  sure 
none  is  neglected.  Like  the  little  pig  you  all 
know  about,  I suspect  there  is  always  at  least 
one  little  flicker  in  the  dark  tree-hollow  that 
“gets  none”  each  trip. 


!i 


■ !' /'i : 


CHAPTER  XIV 


CUCKOO  AND  KINGFISHER 

Yellow-billed  Cuckoo 
Black-billed  Cuckoo 
Belted  Kingfisher 


YELLOW-BILLED  CUCKOO 


Called  also:  Rain  Crow 

DO  YOU  own  a cuckoo  clock  with  a little  bird 
inside  that  flies  out  of  a door  every  hour 
and  teUs  you  the  time  ? Except  when  it  is  time  to 
go  to  school  or  to  bed  you  are  doubtless  amused 
to  hear  him  hiccough  cuckoo,  cuckoo,  the  me- 
chanical notes  that  tell  his  name.  Cuckoo 
clocks  were  first  made  in  Europe  where  the 
common  species  of  cuckoo  calls  in  this  way, 
but  don’t  imagine  its  American  cousins  do. 
Otir  yellow-billed  cuckoo’s  xmmusical,  guttural 
notes  sound  something  like  a tree  toad’s 
rattle,  kuk-kuk,  kuk-kuk,  kuk-kuk,  kr-r-r-uck,  kr- 
r-r-uck,  kr-r-r-uck,  kr-r-ruck,  cow,  cow,  cow, 
cow!  This  is  his  complete  “song,”  but  usually 
one  hears  only  a portion  of  it.  The  black- 
billed cuckoo’s  voice  is  softer,  and  its  cow  notes 
rim  together,  otherwise  their  “songs”  are  alike. 

Both  of  our  common  cuckoos  are  slim,  grace- 
ful birds  about  twelve  inches  long — longer  than 
a robin.  They  are  solitary  creatures  and  glide 
silently  among  the  foliage  of  trees  and  shrub- 
bery, rarely  giving  you  a good  look  at  their 
satiny,  grayish-brown  backs  and  dull-white 
205 


2o6  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

breasts.  You  may  know  the  yellow-billed 
cuckoo  by  the  yellow  lower-half  of  his  long, 
curved  bill,  his  cinnamon-brown  wings  and  the 
conspicuous  white  thumb-nail  spots  on  his 
dark  tail  feathers.  If  you  were  to  dip  your 
thumb  in  white  paint,  then  pinch  these  outer 
quills,  you  would  leave  similar  marks. 

Most  birds  will  not  touch  the  hairy,  fuzzy 
caterpillars — very  disagreeable  mouthfuls,  one 
would  think.  But  happily  cuckoos  enjoy  them 
as  well  as  the  smooth,  slippery  kind.  “ I guess 
they  like  the  custard  inside,”  said  a little  boy 
I know  who  had  stepped  on  a fat  caterpillar  on 
the  path.  “ Cuckoos  might  well  be  called 
caterpillar  birds,”  wrote  Florence  Merriam 
Bailey,  “ for  they  are  so  given  to  a diet  of  the 
hairy  caterpillars  that  the  walls  of  their  stom- 
achs are  actually  permeated  with  the  hairs,  and 
a section  of  stomach  looks  like  the  smoothly 
brushed  top  of  a gentleman’s  beaver  hat.” 
When  you  see  the  webs  that  the  tent  cater- 
pillar stretches  across  the  ends  of  the  branches 
of  fruit  and  nut  trees  toward  the  end  of  summer, 
or  early  autumn,  watch  for  the  cuckoo’s  visits. 
Orioles,  also,  tear  open  the  webs  to  get  at  the 
wiggling  morsels  inside,  but  they  leave  dead 
and  mutilated  remains  behind  them,  showing 
that  their  appetite  for  web  worms  is  less  keen 
than  that  of  the  cuckoos,  who  eat  them  up  clean. 
Fortunately  the  caterpillar  of  the  terribly 


The  flicker 


Two  baby  cuckoos  on  the  rickety  bundle  of  sticks  that  by 
courtesy  we  call  a nest 


Yellow-hilled  Cuckoo 


207 


destructive  gypsy  moth  is  another  favourite 
dainty. 

Perhaps  you  have  heard  that  the  cuckoo, 
like  the  naughty  cowbird,  builds  no  nest  and 
lays  its  eggs  in  other  birds’  cradles?  This  is 
true  only  of  the  European  cuckoo.  Its  Ameri- 
can cousin  makes  a poor  apology  for  a nest,  it 
is  true,  merely  a loose  bundle  or  platform  of 
sticks,  as  fiimsily  put  together  as  a dove’s 
nest.  The  greenish-blue  eggs  or  the  naked 
babies  must  certainly  fall  through,  one  would 
think.  Still  it  is  all  the  cuckoos’  own,  and  they 
are  proud  of  it.  But  so  sensitive  and  fearful 
are  they  when  a human  visitor  inspects  their 
nursery  that  they  will  usually  desert  it,  never 
to  return,  if  you  touch  it,  so  beware  of  peep- 
ing! 

When  the  skinny  cuckoo  babies  are  a few 
days  old,  blue  pin-feathers  begin  to  appear,  and 
presently  their  bodies  are  stuck  full  of  fine, 
sharply  pointed  quills  like  a well-stocked  pin 
cushion.  Porcupine  babies  you  might  think 
them  now.  But  presto!  every  pin -feather 
suddenly  fluffs  out  the  day  before  the  youngsters 
leave  the  nest,  and  they  are  clothed  in  a suit  of 
soft  feathers  like  their  parents.  In  a few 
months  young  cuckoos,  hatched  as  far  north  as 
New  England  and  Canada  or  even  Labrador, 
are  strong  enough  to  fly  to  Central  or  South 
America  to  spend  the  winter. 


2o8  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 
BELTED  KINGFISHER 

Called  also:  The  Halcyon 

This  Izaak  Walton  of  birddom,  whom  you 
may  see  perched  as  erect  as  a fish  hawk  on  a 
snag  in  the  lake,  creek  or  river,  or  on  a dead 
limb  projecting  over  the  water,  on  the  lookout 
for  minnows,  chub,  red  fins,  samlets  or  any 
other  small  fry  that  swims  past,  is  as  expert  as 
any  fisherman  you  are  ever  likely  to  know. 
Sharp  eyes  are  necessary  to  see  a little  fish 
where  sunbeams  dance  on  the  ripples  and  the 
refracted  light  plays  queer  tricks  with  one’s 
vision.  Once  a victim  is  sighted,  how  swiftly 
the  lone  fisherman  dives  through  the  air  and 
water  after  it,  and  how  accurately  he  strikes 
its  death-blow  behind  the  gills!  If  the  fish  be 
large  and  lusty  it  may  be  necessary  to  carry  it 
to  the  snag  and  give  it  a few  sharp  knocks  with 
his  long  powerful  bill  to  end  its  struggles. 
These  are  soon  over,  but  the  kingfisher’s  have 
only  begun.  See  him  gag  and  writhe  as  he 
swallows  his  dinner,  head  first,  and  then,  re- 
gretting his  haste,  brings  it  up  again  to  try  a 
wider  avenue  down  his  throat!  Somebody 
shot  a kingfisher  which  had  tried  to  swallow  so 
large  a fish  that  the  tail  was  sticking  out  of  his 
mouth,  while  its  head  was  safely  stored  below 
in  the  bird’s  stomach.  After  the  meat  digests, 


Belted  Kingfisher 


209 


the  indigestible  skin,  bones,  and  scales  of  the 
fish  are  thrown  up  without  the  least  nausea. 

A certain  part  of  a favourite  lake  or  stream 
this  fisherman  patrols  with  a sense  of  ownership 
and  rarely  leaves  it.  Alone,  but  self-satisfied, 
he  clatters  up  and  do^vn  his  beat  as  a police- 
man, going  his  rounds,  might  sound  his  rattle 
from  time  to  time.  The  rattle-headed  bird 
knows  every  pool  where  minnows  play,  every 
projection  along  the  bank  where  a fish  might 
hide,  and  is  ever  on  the  alert,  not  only  to  catch  a 
dinner,  but  to  escape  from  the  sight  of  the  child 
who  intrudes  on  his  domain  and  wants  to 
“know”  him.  You  cannot  mistake  this  big, 
chunky  bird,  fully  a foot  long,  with  grayish- 
blue  upper  parts,  the  long,  strong  wings  and 
short,  square  tail  dotted  in  broken  bars  of 
white,  and  with  a heavy,  bluish  band  across  his 
white  breast.  His  mate  and  children  wear 
rusty  bands  instead  of  blue.  The  crested 
feathers  on  top  of  his  big,  powerful  head  reach 
backward  to  the  nape  like  an  Indian  chief’s 
feather  bonnet,  and  give  him  distinction. 
Under  his  thick,  oily  plumage,  as  waterproof 
as  a duck’s,  he  wears  a suit  of  down  under- 
clothing. 

No  doubt  you  have  heard  that  all  birds  are 
descended  from  reptile  ancestors ; that  feathers 
are  but  modified  scales,  and  that  a bird’s  song 
is  but  the  glorified  hiss  of  the  serpent.  Then 


210  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

the  Idngfisher  and  the  bank  swallow  retain  at 
least  one  ancient  custom  of  their  ancestors,  for 
they  still  place  their  eggs  in  the  ground.  The 
lone  fisherman  chooses  a mate  early  in  the  spring 
and,  with  her  help,  he  tunnels  a hole  in  a bank 
next  a good  fishing  ground.  A minnow  pool 
furnishes  the  most-approved  baby  food.  Per- 
haps the  mates  will  work  two  or  three  weeks 
before  they  have  tunnelled  far  enough  to  suit 
them  and  made  a spacious  nursery  at  the  end 
of  the  long  hall.  Usually  from  five  to  eight 
white  eggs  are  laid  about  six  feet  from  the  en- 
trance on  a bundle  of  grass,  or  perhaps  on  a 
heap  of  ejected  fish  bones  and  refuse.  While 
his  queen  broods,  the  devoted  kingfisher  brings 
her  the  best  of  his  catch.  At  first  their  babies 
are  as  bare  and  skinny  as  their  cuckoo  relatives. 
When  the  father  or  mother  bird  flies  up  stream 
with  a fish  for  them,  giving  a rattling  call  in- 
stead of  ringing  a dinner  bell,  all  the  hungry 
youngsters  rush  forward  to  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel ; but  only  one  can  be  satisfied  each  trip. 
Then  all  run  backward  through  the  inclined 
tunnel,  like  reversible  steam  engines,  and  keep 
tightly  huddled  together  until  the  next  exciting 
rattle  is  heard.  Both  parents  are  always  on 
guard  to  drive  off  mink,  rats  and  water  snakes 
that  are  the  terrors  of  their  nursery. 


Waiting  for  mamma  and  fish 


Young  belted  kingfisher  on  his  favourite  snag 


Kinp^fisher  on  the  look-out  for  a dinner 


CHAPTER  XV 


DAY  AND  NIGHT  ALLIES  OF  THE 
FARMER 

Turkey  Vulture 
Red-shouldered  Hawk 
Red-tailed  Hawk 
Cooper’s  Hawk 
Bald  Eagle 

American  Sparrow  Hawk 
American  Osprey 
American  Barn  Owl 
Short-eared  Owl 
Long-eared  Owl 
Barred  Owl 
Screech  Owl 


TURKEY  VULTURE 


Called  also:  Turkey  Buzzard 

17  VERY  child  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon’s  line 
knows  this  big  buzzard  that  sails  serenely 
with  its  companions  in  great  circles,  floating 
high  overhead,  now  rising,  now  falling,  with 
scarcely  a movement  of  its  wide-spread  wings. 
In  the  air,  it  expresses  the  very  poetry  of  motion. 
No  other  bird  is  more  graceful  and  buoyant. 
One  could  spend  hours  watching  its  fascinating 
flight.  But  surely  its  earthly  habits  express 
the  very  prose  of  existence;  for  it  may  be  seen 
in  the  company  of  other  dusky  scavengers,  walk- 
ing about  in  the  roads  of  the  smaller  towns  and 
villages,  picking  up  refuse;  or,  in  the  flelds, 
feeding  on  some  dead  animal.  Relying  upon 
its  good  offices,  the  careless  farmer  lets  his  dead 
pig  or  horse  or  chicken  lie  where  it  dropped, 
knowing  that  buzzards  will  speedily  settle  on  it 
and  pick  its  bones  clean.  Our  soldiers  in  the 
war  with  Spain  say  that  the  flnal  touch  of  horror 
on  the  Cuban  battlefields  was  when  the  buz- 
zards, that  were  wheeling  overhead,  suddenly 
dropped  where  their  wounded  or  dead  comrades 
fell. 


214  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Because  it  is  so  helpful  in  ridding  the  earth  of 
decaying  matter,  the  law  and  the  Southern 
people,  white  and  coloured,  protect  the  vvdture. 
Its  usefulness  is  more  easily  seen  and  understood 
than  that  of  many  smaller  birds  of  greater  value 
which,  alas ! are  a target  for  every  gtmner.  Con- 
sequently, it  is  perhaps  the  commonest  bird  in 
the  South,  and  tame  enough  for  the  merest  tyro 
in  bird  lore  to  learn  that  it  is  about  two  and 
a half  feet  long,  with  a wing  spread  of  fully  six 
feet;  that  its  head  and  neck  are  bare  and  red 
like  a turkey’s,  and  that  its  body  is  covered 
with  dusky  feathers  edged  with  brown — ^an 
ungainly,  unlovely  creature  out  of  its  element, 
the  air.  Another  sable  scavenger,  the  black 
vulture  or  carrion  crow,  of  similar  habits,  but 
with  a more  southerly  range,  is  common  in  the 
Gulf  States. 

Because  it  feeds  on  carrion  that  not  even  a 
goat  grudges  it,  and  is  too  lazy  and  cowardly  to 
pick  a quarrel,  the  buzzard  has  no  enemies. 
Although  classed  among  birds  of  prey,  it  does 
not  frighten  the  smallest  chick  in  the  poultry 
yard  when  it  flops  down  beside  it.  With  beak 
and  claws  capable  of  gashing  painful  wounds, 
it  never  uses  them  for  defence,  but  resorts  to 
the  disgusting  trick  of  throwing  up  the  contents 
of  its  stomach  over  any  creature  that  comes  too 
near.  When  a colony  of  the  ever-sociable 
buzzards  are  nesting,  you  may  be  very  sure 


Red-shouldered  Hawk 


215 


no  one  cares  to  make  a close  study  of  their 
young. 


RED-SHOULDERED  HAWK 

Called  also:  Hen  Hawk;  Chicken  Hawk;  Win- 
ter Hawk 

Let  any  one  say  “ Hawk”  to  the  average  far- 
mer and  he  looks  for  his  gun.  For  many  years 
it  was  supposed  that  every  member  of  the  hawk 
family  was  a villain  and  fair  game,  but  the 
white  searchlight  of  science  shows  us  that 
most  of  the  tribe  are  the  farmers’  allies,  which, 
with  the  owls,  share  the  task  of  keeping  in  check 
the  mice,  moles,  gophers,  snakes,  and  the  larger 
insect  pests.  Nature  keeps  her  vast  domain 
patrolled  by  these  vigilant  watchers  by  day 
and  by  night.  Guns  may  well  be  turned  on 
those  blood-thirsty  fiends  in  feathers,  Cooper’s 
hawk,  the  sharp-shinned  hawk,  and  the  goshawk, 
that  not  only  eat  our  poultry,  but  every  song 
bird  they  can  catch : the  law  of  the  survival  of 
the  fittest  might  well  be  enforced  with  lead  in 
their  case.  But  do  let  us  protect  our  friends, 
the  more  heavily  built  and  slow-flying  hawks 
with  the  red  tails  and  red  shoulders,  among 
other  allies  in  our  ceaseless  war  against  farm 
vermin ! 

In  the  court  of  last  appeal  to  which  all  our 


2i6  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

hawks  are  brought — I mean  those  scientific 
men  in  the  Department  of  Agriculture,  Washing- 
ton, who  examine  the  contents  of  birds’  stom- 
achs to  learn  just  what  food  is  taken  in  different 
parts  of  the  country  and  at  different  seasons 
of  the  year — ^the  two  so-called  “hen  hawks” 
were  proved  to  be  rare  offenders,  and  great 
helpers.  Two  hundred  and  twenty  stomachs 
of  red-shouldered  hawks  were  examined  by 
Dr.  Fisher,  and  only  three  contained  remains 
of  poultry,  while  one  hundred  and  two  con- 
tained mice;  ninety-two,  insects;  forty,  moles 
and  other  small  mammals ; fifty-nine,  frogs  and 
snakes,  and  so  on.  The  percentage  of  poultry 
eaten  is  so  small  that  it  might  be  reduced  to 
nothing  if  the  farmers  would  keep  their  chickens 
in  yards  instead  of  letting  them  roam  to  pick 
up  a living  in  the  fields,  where  the  temptation 
to  snatch  up  one  must  be  overwhelming  to  a 
himgry  hawk.  Fortunately  these  two  benefi- 
cent “hen  hawks,”  are  still  common,  in  spite 
of  our  ignorant  persecution  of  them  for  two 
hundred  years  or  more. 

Toward  the  end  of  stunmer,  especially  in 
September,  when  nursery  duties  have  ended 
for  the  year  and  the  hawks  are  care  free,  you 
may  see  them  sailing  in  wide  spirals,  delighting 
in  the  cooler  stratum  of  air  high  overhead. 
Balancing  on  wide,  outstretched  wings,  floating 
serenely  with  no  apparent  effort,  they  enjoy 


Red-shouldered  Hawk 


217 


the  slow  merry-go-round  at  a height  that  would 
make  any  child  dizzy.  Sometimes  they  rise  out 
of  sight.  Kee  you,  kee  you,  they  scream  as  they 
sail.  Does  the  teasing  blue  jay  imitate  the  call 
for  the  fim  of  frightening  little  birds? 

But  the  red-shouldered  hawk  is  not  on 
pleasure  bent  much  of  the  time.  Perching  is 
its  specialty,  and  on  an  outstretched  limb,  or 
other  point  of  vantage,  it  sits  erect  and  digni- 
fied, its  far-seeing  eyes  alone  in  motion  trying 
to  sight  its  quarry — a mouse  creeping  through 
the  meadow,  a mole  leaving  its  ttmnel,  a chip- 
mimk  running  along  a stone  wall,  a frog  leap- 
ing into  the  swamp,  a gopher  or  young  rabbit 
frisking  around  the  edges  of  the  wood — ^when, 
spying  one,  “like  a thunderbolt  it  falls.” 

If  you  could  ever  creep  close  enough  to  a 
red-shouldered  hawk,  which  is  not  likely,  you 
would  see  that  it  is  a powerful  bird,  about  a 
foot  and  a half  long,  dark  brown  above,  the 
feathers  edged  with  rusty,  with  bright  chestnut 
patches  on  the  shoulders.  The  wings  and  dark 
tail  are  barred  with  white,  so  are  the  rusty-buff 
under  parts,  and  the  light  throat  has  dark 
streaks.  Female  hawks  are  larger  than  the 
males,  just  as  the  squaws  in  some  Indian  tribes 
are  larger  than  the  braves.  It  is  said  that 
hawks  remain  mated  for  life ; so  do  eagles  and 
owls,  for  in  their  family  life,  at  least,  the  birds  of 
prey  are  remarkably  devoted,  gentle  and  loving. 


2i8  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 


RED-TAILED  HAWK 

Called  also:  Hen  Hawk;  Chicken  Hawk;  Red 
Hawk 

This  larger  relative  of  the  red-shouldered 
hawk  (the  female  red-tail  measures  nearly  two 
feet  in  length)  shares  with  it  the  hatred  of  all 
but  the  most  enlightened  farmers.  Before  con- 
demning either  of  these  useful  allies,  everyone 
should  read  the  report  of  Dr.  Fisher,  published 
by  the  Government,  and  to  be  had  for  the  ask- 
ing. This  expert  judge  tells  of  a pair  of  red- 
tailed hawks  that  reared  their  young  for 
two  successive  seasons  in  a birch  tree  in  some 
swampy  woods,  about  fifty  rods  from  a poultry 
farm,  where  they  might  have  helped  themselves 
to  eight  hundred  chickens  and  half  as  many 
ducks ; yet  they  were  never  known  to  touch  one. 
Occasionally,  in  winter  especially,  when  other 
food  is  scarce,  a red-tail  will  steal  a chicken — 
probably  a maimed  or  sickly  one  that  cannot 
get  out  of  the  way — or  drop  on  a bob-white; 
but  ninety  per  cent,  of  its  food  consists  of 
injurious  mammals  and  insects. 

Both  of  these  slandered  “hen  hawks”  prefer 
to  live  in  low,  wet,  wooded  places  with  open 
meadows  for  hunting  grounds  near  by. 


Cooper's  Hawk 


2ig 


COOPER’S  HAWK 

Called  also:  Chicken  Hawk;  Big  Blue  Darter 

Here  is  no  ally  of  the  farmer,  but  his  foe,  the 
most  bold  of  all  his  robbers,  a blood-thirsty 
villain  that  lives  by  plundering  poultry  yards, 
and  tearing  the  warm  flesh  from  the  breasts  of 
game  and  song  birds,  one  of  the  few  members  of 
his  generally  useful  tribe  that  deserves  the 
punishment  ignorantly  meted  out  to  his  inno- 
cent relatives.  Unhappily,  it  is  perhaps  the 
most  common  hawk  in  the  greater  part  of  the 
United  States,  and  therefore  does  more  harm 
than  all  the  others.  It  is  mentioned  in  this 
chapter  that  concerns  the  farmers’  allies,  only 
because  every  child  should  know  foe  from  friend. 

The  female  Cooper’s  hawk  is  about  nineteen 
inches  long  and  her  mate  a finger-length  smaller, 
but  not  nearly  so  small  as  the  little  blue  darter, 
the  sharp-shinned  hawk,  only  about  a foot  in 
length,  but  which  it  very  closely  resembles  in 
plumage  and  villainy.  Both  species  have 
slaty-gray  upper  parts  with  deep  bars  across 
their  wings  and  ashy-gray  tails  The  latter 
differ  in  outline,  however.  Cooper’s  hawk  having 
a rounded  tail  with  whitish  tip,  and  the  sharp- 
shinned  hawk  a square  tail.  In  maturity 
Cooper’s  hawk  wears  a blackish  crown.  Both 
species  have  white  throats  with  dark  streaks 


220  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

and  the  rest  of  their  under  parts  are  much 
barred  with  buff  and  white. 

Instead  of  spending  their  time  perching  on 
lookouts,  as  the  red-tailed  and  red-shouldered 
hawks  do,  these  two  reprobates  dash  after  their 
victims  on  the  wing,  chasing  them  across  open 
stretches  where  such  swift,  dexterous,  dodging 
flyers  are  sure  to  overtake  them.  Or  they  will 
flash  out  of  a clear  sky  like  feathered  lightning 
and  boldly  strike  a chicken,  though  it  be  peck- 
ing com  near  a farmer’s  feet.  These  two 
marauders,  and  the  big  slate-coloured  goshawk, 
also  called  the  blue  hen  hawk  or  partridge 
hawk,  stab  their  cmel  talons  though  the  vitals 
of  more  valuable  poultry,  song  and  game  birds, 
than  any  child  would  care  to  read  about. 

BALD  EAGLE 

Every  American  boy  and  girl  knows  our 
national  bird,  which  is  the  farmer’s  ally,  how- 
ever, only  when  it  appears  on  the  money  in  his 
pocket.  Without  an  eagle  on  that,  you  must 
know  it  would  be  of  little  use  to  him. 

Trath  to  tell,  this  majestic  emblem  of  our 
republic  (borrowed  from  imperial  Rome)  that 
spreads  itself  gloriously  over  our  coins,  flag 
poles,  public  buildings  and  government  docu- 
ments, is,  in  real  life,  not  the  bravest  of  the 
brave,  nor  the  most  intelligent,  nor  the  noblest, 


Bald  Eagle 


221 


nor  the  most  enterprising  of  birds,  as  one  fain 
would  believe.  On  the  contrary,  it  often  uses 
its  wonderful  eyesight  to  detect  a bird  more 
skilful  than  itself  in  the  act  of  catching  a fish, 
and  then  puts  forth  its  superb  strength  to  rob 
the  successful  fisher  of  his  prey.  The  osprey 
is  a frequent  sufferer,  although  some  of  the 
water  fowl,  that  patiently  course  over  the  waves 
hour  after  hour,  in  search  of  a dinner,  may  be 
robbed  of  it  by  the  overpowering  pirate.  Dead 
fish  cast  up  on  the  beach  are  not  rejected. 
When  fish  fail,  coots,  ducks,  geese  and  gulls — 
the  fastest  of  flyers — are  likely  to  be  snatched 
up,  plucked  clean  of  their  feathers,  and  tom 
apart  by  the  great  bird  that  drops  suddenly 
upon  them  from  the  clouds  like  Jove’s  thunder- 
bolt. Rarely  small  animals  are  seized,  but 
there  is  probably  no  well-authenticated  case  of 
an  eagle  carrying  off  a child. 

It  is  in  their  family  life  that  hawks  and 
eagles,  however  cmel  at  other  times,  show  some 
truly  lovable  traits.  Once  mated,  they  know 
neither  divorce  nor  family  quarrels  all  their  lives. 
Home  is  the  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  them. 
They  become  passionately  attached  to  the 
great  bundle  of  trash  that  is  at  once  their  nest 
and  their  abode.  A tall  pine  tree,  near  water, 
or  the  rocky  ledge  of  sotne  steep  cliff,  is  the 
favourite  site  for  an  eagle  eyrie.  Here  the  de- 
voted mates  will  carry  an  immense  quantity  of 


222  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

sticks,  sod,  cornstalks,  pine  twigs,  weeds,  bones, 
and  other  coarse  rubbish,  until,  after  annual 
repairs  for  several  seasons,  the  broad,  fiat  nest 
may  grow  to  be  almost  as  high  as  it  is  wide  and 
look  something  like  a New  York  sky-scraper. 
Both  parents  sit  on  the  eggs  in  turn  and  devote 
themselves  with  zeal  to  feeding  the  eaglets. 
These  spoiled  children  remain  in  the  nest 
several  months  without  attempting  to  fly, 
expecting  to  be  waited  upon  even  after  they  are 
actually  larger  than  the  old  birds.  The  cast- 
ings of  skins,  bones,  hair,  scales,  etc.,  in  the 
vicinity  of  a hawk’s  or  eagle’s  nest,  will  indicate, 
almost  as  well  as  Dr.  Fisher’s  analysis,  what 
food  the  babies  had  in  their  stomachs  to  make 
them  grow  so  big.  Immature  birds  are  almost 
black  all  over.  Not  until  they  are  three  years 
old  do  the  feathers  on  their  heads  and  necks 
turn  white,  giving  them  the  effect  of  being  bald. 
Any  eagle  seen  in  the  eastern  United  States  is 
sure  to  be  of  this  species. 

In  the  West  and  throughout  Asia  and  Africa 
lives  the  golden  eagle,  of  which  Tennyson  wrote 
the  lines  that  apply  equally  well  to  our  East- 
ern “bird  of  freedom”: 

“He  clasps  the  crag  with  crooked  hands; 

Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 

Ringed  with  the  azure  world  he  stands. 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls: 

He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls, 

And,  like  a thunderbolt,  he  falls.” 


American  Sparrow  Hawk 


223 


AMERICAN  SPARROW  HAWK 

Called  also:  Killy  Hawk;  Rusty-crowned  Falcon; 

Mouse  Hawk 

Just  such  an  extended  branch  as  a shrike  or  a 
kingbird  would  use  as  a lookout  while  searching 
the  landscape  o’er  for  something  to  eat,  the 
little  sparrow  hawk  chooses  for  the  same  purpose. 
He  is  not  much  larger  than  either  of  these  birds, 
scarcely  longer  than  a robin.  Because  he  is  a 
hawk,  with  the  family  possession  of  eyes  that 
are  both  telescope  and  miscroscope,  he  can 
detect  a mouse,  sparrow,  garter  snake,  spider 
or  grasshopper,  farther  away  than  seems  to  us 
possible. 

Every  farmer’s  boy  knows  this  beautiful 
little  rusty-red  hawk,  with  slaty-blue  cap  and 
wings,  and  creamy-buff  spotted  sides,  if  not  by 
sight  then  by  sound,  as  it  calls  kill-ee,  kill-ee 
kill-ee,  across  the  fields.  It  does  not  soar  and 
revolve  in  a merry-go-rotmd  on  high  like  its 
cousins,  but  flies  swiftly  and  gracefully,  keeping 
near  enough  to  the  ground  to  see  everything  that 
creeps  or  hops  through  the  grass.  Dropping 
suddenly,  like  a stone,  upon  its  victim  (usually 
a grasshopper)  it  seizes  it  in  its  small,  sharp, 
fatal  talons  and  bears  it  away  to  a favourite 
perch,  there  to  enjoy  it  at  leisure. 


224  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

This  is  the  hawk  that  is  so  glad  to  find  a 
deserted  woodpecker’s  hole  for  its  nest.  How 
many  other  birds  gratefully  accept  those  skil- 
ful carpenters’  vacant  tenements! 


AMERICAN  OSPREY 
Called  also:  Fish  Hawk 

A pair  of  these  beautiful  big  hawks,  that  had 
nested  year  after  year  in  the  top  of  a tall  pine 
tree  on  the  Manasquan  River,  New  Jersey,  were 
g-reat  pets  in  that  region.  An  old  fisherman 
of  Bamegat  Bay  told  me  that  when  he  was 
hauling  in  his  seine  one  day,  he  saw  the  male 
osprey  strike  the  water  with  a splash,  struggle 
an  instant  with  a great  fish  that  had  been  fol- 
lowing his  net,  and  disappear  below  the  waves, 
never  to  rise  again.  The  bird  more  than  met  his 
match  that  time.  The  fish  was  far  larger  than 
he  expected,  so  powerful  that  it  easily  dragged 
him  under,  once  his  talons  were  imbedded  in 
the  fish’s  flesh.  For  the  rest  of  the  summer  the 
widowed  osprey  always  stayed  about  when  the 
fisherman  hauled  his  net  on  the  beach,  and  bore 
away  to  her  nest  the  worthless  fish  he  left  in  it 
for  her  special  benefit.  But  after  rearing  her 
family — a prolonged  process  for  all  the  hawks, 
eagles,  and  owls — she  never  returned  to  the 


Owls 


22$ 


neighbourhood.  Perhaps  old  associations  were 
too  painful ; perhaps  she  was  shot  on  her  way 
South  that  winter ; or  perhaps  she  took  another 
mate  with  more  sense  and  less  greed,  who  pre- 
ferred to  reside  elsewhere. 

As  you  may  imagine,  fish  hawks  always  live 
near  water.  In  summer  they  frequent  the  in- 
lets along  the  Atlantic  coast,  but  over  inland 
lakes  and  rivers  also,  many  fly  back  and  forth. 
You  may  know  by  their  larger  size — they  are 
almost  two  feet  long — and  by  their  slow  flight 
that  they  are  not  the  winter  gulls.  Their  dusky 
backs  and  white  under  parts  harmonise  well  with 
the  marine  picture,  N orth,  or  South.  Their  plum- 
age contains  more  white  than  that  of  any  other 
hawk.  No  matter  how  foggy  the  day  or  how 
quietly  the  diving  osprey  may  splash  to  catch 
his  fish  dinner,  any  bald-headed  eagle  in  the 
vicinity  is  sure  to  detect  him  in  the  act  of  seiz- 
ing it,  and  then  to  relieve  him  of  it  instantly. 


OWLS 

Like  many  children  I know,  owls  begin  to  be 
especially  lively  toward  night,  only  they  make 
no  noise  as  they  fly  about.  Very  soft,  fluffy 
plumage  muffles  their  flight  so  that  they  can 
drop  upon  a meadow  mouse  creeping  through 
the  grass  in  the  stilly  night  before  this  wee, 


226  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

timorous  beastie  suspects  there  is  a foe  abroad. 
As  owls  live  upon  mice,  mostly,  it  is  important 
they  should  be  helped  to  catch  them  with  some 
device  that  beats  our  traps.  If  mice  should 
change  their  nocturnal  habits,  the  owl’s  whole 
scheme  of  existence  would  be  upset,  and  the 
hawks  would  get  the  quarry  that  they  now 
enjoy:  mice,  rats,  moles,  bats,  frogs  and  the 
larger  insects.  You  see  the  farmer  has  in- 
valuable day  and  night  allies  in  these  birds  of 
prey  which  take  turns  in  protecting  his  fields 
from  rodents,  one  patrol  working  while  the 
other  sleeps.  On  the  whole,  owls  are  the  more 
valuable  to  him.  They  usually  continue  their 
good  work  all  through  the  winter  after  the 
hawks  have  gone  South.  Can  you  think  of  any 
other  birds  that  work  for  him  at  night? 

Not  only  can  owls  fluff  out  their  loose,  mottled 
plumage,  but  they  can  draw  it  in  so  close  as  to 
change  their  shape  and  size  in  an  instant,  so 
that  they  look  like  quite  different  birds,  or 
rather  not  like  birds  at  all,  but  stumps  of  trees. 
Altering  their  outlines,  changing  their  shape 
and  size  at  will,  is  one  of  these  queer  birds’ 
peculiarities.  Their  eyes,  set  in  the  centre  of 
feathered  discs,  do  not  revolve  in  their  sockets, 
but  are  so  fixed  that  they  look  only  straight 
ahead,  which  is  why  an  owl  must  turn  his  head 
every  time  he  wishes  to  glance  to  the  right  or 
left.  Another  peculiarity  is  the  owls’  method 


Turkey  buzzard : one  of  Nature’s  house  cleaners 


The  beautiful  little  sparrow  hawk 


Barn  Owl 


227 


of  eating.  Bolting  entire  all  the  food  they 
catch,  head  first,  they  digest  only  the  nutritious 
portions  of  it.  Then,  bowing  their  heads  and 
shaking  them  very  hard,  they  eject  the  bones, 
claws,  skin,  hair  and  fur  in  matted  pellets,  with- 
out the  least  distress.  Some  children  I know, 
who  swallow  their  food  in  a hurry — cherry 
stones,  grape  skins,  apple  cores  and  all — need 
a similar,  merciful  digestive  apparatus. 

Like  the  hawks,  owls  are  devoted,  life-long 
mates.  The  females  are  larger  than  the  males. 
Some  like  to  live  in  dens6  evergreens  that  hide 
them  from  teasing  blue  jays  and  other  foes  by 
day;  some,  like  the  bam  owl,  prefer  towers, 
church  steeples  or  the  tops  of  bams  and  other 
buildings ; some  hide  in  hollow  trees  or  deserted 
woodpeckers’  holes,  but  all  naturally  prefer  to 
take  their  long,  daily  naps  where  the  sunlight 
does  not  penetrate.  They  live  in  their  homes 
more  hours  than  woodpeckers  or  any  other 
birds.  No  doubt  we  pass  by  many  sleeping 
owls  without  suspecting  their  presence. 


BARN  OWL 

Called  also:  Monkey-faced  Owl 

This  is  the  shy,  odd-looking,  gray  and  white 
mottled  owl  with  the  triangular  face  and  slim 


228  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

body,  about  a foot  and  a half  long,  that  comes 
out  of  its  hole  at  evening  with  a wild  scream, 
startling  timid  and  superstitious  people  into  the 
belief  that  it  is  uncanny.  The  American  coun- 
terpart of  “wise  Minerva’s  only  fowl,”  its  large 
eye-discs  and  solemn  blink  certainly  make  it 
look  like  a fit  companion  for  the  goddess  of 
wisdom. 

A tame  bam  owl,  owned  by  a gentleman  in 
Philadelphia,  would  sit  on  his  shoulder  for  hours 
at  a time.  It  felt  offended  if  its  master  would 
not  play  with  it.  The  only  way  the  man 
could  gain  time  for  himself  during  the  bird’s 
waking  hours,  was  to  feed  it  well  and  leave  a 
stuffed  bird  for  it  to  play  with  when  he  went 
out  of  the  room,  just  as  Jimmy  Brown  left  a 
doll  with  his  baby  sister  when  he  went  out  to 
play;  only  the  man  could  not  tack  the  owl’s 
petticoats  to  the  floor. 

A pair  of  bam  owls  lived  for  many  years  in  the 
tower  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  Wash- 
ington. Dr.  Fisher  found  the  skulls  of  four 
hundred  and  fifty-four  small  mammals  in  the 
pellets  cast  about  their  home.  Another  pair 
lived  in  a tower  and  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
some  tame  pigeons.  Happily  the  owls  had  no 
taste  for  squab,  but  the  debris  of  several 
thousand  mice  and  rats  about  their  curious 
dwelling  proved  that  their  appetite  needed  no 
coaxing  with  such  a delicacy. 


Short-eared  Owl 


229 


SHORT-EARED  OWL 
Called  also:  Marsh  Owl;  Meadow  Owl 

This  owl,  and  its  long-eared  cousin,  wear  the 
tufts  of  feathers  in  their  ears  that  resemble  harm- 
less horns.  Unlike  its  relatives,  the  short- 
eared owl  does  some  hunting  by  daylight, 
especially  in  cloudy  weather,  and  like  the 
marsh  hawk  it  prefers  to  live  in  grassy,  marshy 
places  frequented  by  meadow  mice.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  long-eared  owl  respects  family 
traditions,  and  goes  about  only  after  dark. 
“ It  usually  spends  the  day  in  some  evergreen 
woods,  thick  willow  copse  or  alder  swamp, 
although  rarely  it  may  be  found  in  open  places, " 
says  Dr.  Fisher.  “ The  bird  is  not  wild  and  will 
allow  itself  to  be  closely  approached.  When 
conscious  that  its  presence  is  recognised,  it  sits 
upright,  draws  the  feathers  close  to  its  body, 
and  erects  the  ear-tufts,  resembling  in  ap- 
pearance a piece  of  weather-beaten  bark  more 
than  a bird.”  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is, 
that  few  people,  except  professional  bird  stu- 
dents, know  very  much  about  these  or  any  other 
owls,  for  few  find  them  by  day  or  forsake  their 
couches  when  they  are  abroad.  We  may  take 
Dr.  Johnson’s  advice  and  “ give  our  days  and 
nights  to  the  study  of  Addison,”  but  few  of  us 
give  even  a part  of  our  days  and  less  of  our  nights 
to  the  study  of  the  birds  about  us. 


230  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 


BARRED  OWL 
Called  also:  Hoot  Owl 

If  “a  good  child  should  be  seen  and  not 
heard”  what  can  be  said  for  this  owl?  Its 
deep-toned  whoo-whoo-who-whoo-to-whoo-ah,  like 
the  wail  of  some  lost  soul  asking  the  way,  is  the 
only  indication  you  are  likely  to  have  that  a 
hoot  owl  lives  in  your  neighbourhood.  You 
can  imitate  its  voice  and  deliberately  “hoot  it 
up.”  Few  people  who  know  its  voice  will  ever 
see  its  smooth,  round,  bland,  almost  human 
face. 

“ As  useless  as  a last  year’s  nest  ” can  have  no 
meaning  to  a pair  of  these  large  hardy  owls 
that  go  about  toward  the  end  of  winter  looking 
for  a deserted  woodpecker’s  nest  or  a hawk’s, 
crow’s,  or  squirrel’s  bulky  cradle  in  some  tree 
top.  Ever  after  they  hold  it  as  their  own. 

Farmers  shoot  the  owl  that  occasionally  takes 
one  of  their  broilers  or  a game  bird,  not  knowing 
that  the  remainder  of  its  diet  really  leaves  them 
in  its  debt. 


SCREECH  OWLS 

A boy  I know  had  a pair  of  little  screech  owls 
invite  themselves  to  live  in  a box  he  had  nailed 


Screech  Owls 


231 


up  for  bluebirds  in  his  father’s  orchard.  Al- 
though they  had  full  liberty,  in  time  they  be- 
came tame  pets,  even  pampered  darlings,  with 
a willing  slave  to  trap  mice  for  them  in  the  corn 
crib  and  hay  loft.  At  first  mice  were  plentiful 
enough,  and  every  day  after  school  the  boy 
would  empty  the  traps,  climb  the  apple  tree 
and  feed  the  owls.  But  presently  the  mice 
learned  the  danger  that  may  lurk  behind  an 
innocent  looking  lump  of  cheese.  One  foolish, 
hungry  mouse  now  and  then  was  all  the  boy 
could  catch.  This  he  would  carry  by  the  tail 
to  his  sleeping  pets,  arouse  them  by  dangling  it 
against  their  heads,  at  which,  while  half  asleep, 
they  would  click  their  beaks  like  castanets. 
When  both  were  wide  awake  he  would  allow 
one  of  them  to  bolt  the  mouse  while  he  still 
held  on  firmly  to  the  tail.  Then,  jerking  the 
mouse  back  out  of  the  owl’s  throat,  he  would 
allow  the  other  owl  to  really  swallow  it.  When 
next  he  caught  a mouse,  the  operation  was 
reversed:  the  owl  that  had  been  satisfied  be- 
fore now  gulped  the  mouse  first,  only  to  have 
it  jerked  away  and  fed  to  its  mate.  In  this 
way,  strange  to  say,  the  boy  kept  on  friendly 
terms  with  the  pair  for  several  weeks,  when  he 
discovered  that  they  liked  bits  of  raw  beef  quite 
as  well  as  mice.  After  that  he  carried  his 
queer  pets  to  the  house  and  kept  them  in  his 
room  all  winter.  Early  in  the  spring  they 


■2$2  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

returned  to  the  bird  house  and  raised  a family 
of  funny,  fluffy,  plump  little  owlets. 

This  boy  discovered  for  himself  the  screech 
owls’  strange  characteristic  of  changing  their 
colour  without  changing  their  feathers,  as 
moulting  song  birds  change  theirs.  They  have 
a rusty,  reddish-brown  phase  and  a mottled- 
gray  phase.  So  far  as  is  known,  these  changes 
of  colour  are  not  dependent  upon  age,  sex,  or 
season.  No  one  understands  what  causes  them 
or  what  they  mean.  Sometimes  the  same  family 
will  contain  birds  with  plumage  that  is  rusty- 
brown  or  gray  or  intermediate.  But  you  may 
always  know  a screech  owl  by  its  small  size  (it 
is  only  about  as  long  as  a robin)  and  by  the  ear 
tufts  that  make  it  look  wide-awake  and  very 
wise. 

By  day  it  keeps  well  hidden  in  some  deserted 
woodpecker’s  hole  or  a hollow  in  some  old 
orchard  tree,  which  is  its  favourite  residence; 
but  some  mischievous  little  birds,  with  sharper 
eyes  than  ours,  often  discover  its  hiding  place, 
wake  it  up,  and  chase  it,  blinking  and  bewil- 
dered, all  about  the  farm.  By  night,  when  its 
tormentors  are  asleep,  this  little  owl  goes  forth 
for  its  supper,  and  then  we  hear  its  weird, 
sweet,  shivering,  tremulous  cry.  Because  it 
lives  near  our  homes  and  is,  perhaps,  the  com- 
monest of  the  owls  all  over  our  country,  every 
child  can  know  it  by  sound,  if  not  by  sight. 


Father  and  mother  barn  owls 


The  heavenly  twins ; young  barn  owls 


CHAPTER  XVI 


MOURNER,  WHISTLER,  AND 
DRUMMER 

Mourning  Dove 
Bob-white 
Ruffed  Grouse 


i 


I 


\ 


MOURNING  DOVE 


Called  also:  Carolina  Dove 

T^O  NOT  waste  any  sympathy  on  this  in- 
cessant  love-maker  that  slowly  sings 
coo-o-o,  ah-coo-o-o-ooo-o-o-ooo-o-o,  in  a sweetly 
sad  voice.  Really  he  is  no  more  melan- 
choly than  the  plaintive  pewee  but,  on  the 
contrary,  is  so  happy  in  his  love  that  his  de- 
votion has  passed  into  a proverb.  Neverthe- 
less, the  song  he  sings  to  his  “turtle  dove” 
sounds  more  like  a dirge  than  a rapture.  While 
she  lives,  there  is  no  more  contented  bird  in  the 
woods. 

Dove  lovers  are  quite  self-sufficient.  Their 
larger  cousins,  the  wild  pigeons,  that  once  were 
so  abundant,  depended  on  friends  for  much  of 
their  happiness  and  lived  in  enormous  flocks. 
Now  only  a few  pairs  survive  in  this  land  of 
liberty  to  refute  the  adage  “ In  union  there  is 
strength.”  Because  millions  of  pigeons  slept 
in  favourite  roosts  many  miles  in  extent,  they 
were  all  too  easily  netted,  and  it  did  not  take 
greedy  men  long  to  turn  the  last  flock  into  cash. 
Happily,  doves  preserved  their  race  by  scat- 
tering in  couples  over  a wide  area — from 
23s 


236  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

Panama,  in  winter,  as  far  north  as  Ontario  in 
warm  weather.  Not  until  nursery  duties, 
which  begin  early  in  the  spring,  are  over,  late 
in  siunmer,  do  they  give  up  their  shy,  unsocial 
habits  to  enjoy  the  company  of  a few  friends. 
When  they  rise  on  whistling  wings  from  tree- 
bordered  fields,  where  they  have  been  feeding 
on  seeds  and  grain,  not  a gun  is  fired:  no  one 
cares  to  eat  them. 

Only  the  cuckoo  of  our  common  birds  builds 
so  flimsy  a nest  as  the  dove’s  adored  darling. 
I am  sorry  to  tell  you  she  is  a slack,  incompetent 
housekeeper,  but  evidently  her  lover  is  blind 
to  every  fault.  What  must  the  expert  phoebe 
think  of  such  a poorly  made,  untidy  cradle,  or 
that  bustling,  energetic  housewife,  Jenny  Wren, 
or  the  tiniest  of  clever  architects,  the  humming- 
bird? It  is  a wonder  that  the  dove’s  two  white 
eggs  do  not  fall  through  the  rickety,  rimless, 
unlined  lattice.  How  scarred  and  bruised  the 
naked  bodies  of  the  twins  must  be  by  the  sticks! 
Like  pigeons,  hummingbirds,  flickers,  and  some 
other  feathered  parents,  doves  feed  their  fledg- 
lings by  pumping  partly  digested  food — “pig- 
eon’s milk’’ — from  their  own  crops  into  theirs. 

When  they  leave  the  open  woodlands  to 
take  a dust  bath  in  the  road,  or  to  walk  about 
and  collect  gravel  for  their  interior  grinding 
machines,  or  to  get  a drink  of  water  before 
going  to  sleep,  you  may  have  a good  look  at 


A little  screech  owl  in  the  sunlight  where  only  a photog- 
rapher could  find  him 


Mrs.  White  on  her  nest  wliile  Bob  whistles  to  her  from  the  wild-strawberry  patch 


Bob-white 


237 


them.  As  they  walk,  they  bob  their  heads  in 
a funny  manner  of  their  own.  They  are  bluish, 
fawn-coloured  birds  about  a foot  long.  The 
male  has  some  exqtiisite  metallic  colours  on 
his  neck,  otherwise  he  resembles  his  best  be- 
loved. Both  wear  black  crescent  patches  on 
their  cheeks.  All  the  feathers  on  their  long, 
pointed  tails,  except  the  two  largest  central 
ones,  have  a narrow,  black  band  across  the  end 
and  are  tipped  with  white.  The  breast  feathers 
shade  from  pinkish  fawn  to  pale  buff  below. 
BeautiM  birds  these,  in  spite  of  their  quiet, 
•Quaker  clothes. 


BOB-WHITE 

Called  Also:  “ Quail-on-Toast” ; Partridge 

What  a cheerful  contrast  is  Bob  White’s 
clear,  staccato  whistle  to  the  drawling  coo  of 
the  amorotis  dove!  Character  is  often  ex- 
pressed in  a bird’s  voice  as  well  as  in  ours. 
From  their  voices  alone  you  might  guess  that 
the  dove  and  the  quail  are  no  relation.  They 
do  not  belong  even  to  the  same  order,  bob- 
white  being  a scratching  bird  and  having  the 
ruffed  grouse  and  barnyard  chicken  for  his  kin. 
Pheasants  and  turkeys  are  distantly  related. 
In  the  South  people  call  him  a partridge;  in 


238  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

New  England  it  is  the  ruffed  grouse  that  is 
known  by  that  name;  therefore,  to  save  con- 
fusion, why  not  always  give  bob-white  the 
name  by  which  he  calls  himself?  The  chickadee, 
phoebe,  peewee,  towhee,  whip-poor-will  and 
bobolink,  who  tell  their  names  less  plainly  than 
he,  save  every  child  who  tries  to  know  them 
much  trouble.  Don’t  you  wish  every  bird 
would  introduce  himself? 

The  boy  who 

“Drives  home  the  cows  from  the  pasture. 

Up  through  the  long,  shady  lane, 

Where  the  quail  whistles  loud  in  the  wheat  fields, 
That  are  3^ellow  with  ripening  grain,” 

probably  “whistles  up”  those  bob-whites  on 
his  way  home  as  you  would  start  up  the  roosters 
in  the  barnyard  by  imitating  their  crow.  Bob 
White!  Ah,  Boh  White!  rings  from  some  plump 
little  feathered  gallant  on  the  outskirts  of  almost 
any  farm  during  the  long  nesting  season. 

A slight  depression  in  some  dry,  grassy  field 
or  a hole  at  the  foot  of  an  old  stump  or  weed- 
hedged  wall  will  be  lined  with  leaves  and  grasses 
by  both  mates  in  May  to  receive  from  ten  to 
eighteen  brilliant  white  eggs  that  are  packed  in, 
pointed  end  downwards,  to  economise  space. 
If  an  egg  were  removed,  it  would  be  difficult 
indeed  to  re-arrange  the  clutch  with  such 
economy.  Would  it  not  be  cruel  to  touch  a 


Bob-white 


239 


nest  which  the  outraged  owners  would  at  once 
desert? 

Just  as  baby  chickens  follow  the  mother 
about,  so  downy  bob-whites  run  after  both 
their  parents  and  learn  which  seeds,  grain,  in- 
sects and  berries  they  may  safely  eat.  Man, 
with  his  gun  and  dog  and  mowing  machines,  is 
their  worst  enemy,  of  course;  then  comes  the 
sly  fox  and  sneaking  weasel  that  spring  upon 
them  from  ambush,  and  the  hawk  that  drops 
upon  them  like  a thunderbolt.  Birds  have 
enemies  above,  below,  and  on  every  side.  Is 
it  any  wonder  that  they  are  timid  and  shy?  A 
note  of  alarm  from  Mamma  White  summons  the 
chicks,  half-running,  half-flying,  to  huddle 
close  to  her  or  to  take  shelter  beneath  her  short 
wings.  Their  little  grouse  cousins  find  pro- 
tection in  a more  original  way.  When  the 
mother  is  busy  sitting  on  a second  or  third 
clutch  of  eggs,  it  is  Bob  himself,  a pattern  of 
all  the  domestic  virtues,  who  takes  full  charge 
of  the  family.  When  the  last  chicks  are  ready 
to  join  their  older  brothers  and  sisters,  the  bevy 
may  contain  three  or  four  dozen  birds,  all  de- 
votedly attached  to  one  another.  At  bed  time 
they  squat  in  a circle  on  the  ground,  tails  toward 
the  centre  of  the  ring,  heads  pointing  outward 
to  detect  an  enemy  coming  from  any  direction. 
As  if  their  vigilance  were  not  enough.  Bob 
usually  remains  outside  the  ring  to  act  as 


240  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

sentinel.  At  the  sign  of  danger  the  bunch  of 
birds  will  rise  with  loud  whirring  of  the  wings, 
as  suddenly  as  a bomb  might  burst. 

From  November  onward,  every  gun  in  the 
country  will  be  trained  against  them.  There 
is  sufficient  reason  for  poor  people,  who  rarely 
have  any  really  good  food,  or  enough  to  eat, 
shooting  game  birds  in  season ; but  who  has  any 
patience  with  the  pampered  epicures  for  whose 
order  “ quail-on- toast  ” are  cooked  by  thcvhun- 
dred  thousand  at  city  clubs,  restaurants,  and 
private  tables,  already  over-supplied.?  No  chef 
could  ever  tempt  me  to  eat  this  friendly  little 
song  bird  that  stays  about  the  farm  with  his 
family  through  the  coldest  winter  to  pick  up 
the  buckwheat,  cheap  raisins,  and  sweepings 
from  the  hay  loft  that  keep  him  as  neighbourly 
as  a robin.  Every  farmer  who  does  not  post  his 
place,  and  who  allows  this  useful  ally  in  his 
eternal  war  against  weeds  and  insect  pests  to  be 
shot,  impoverishes  himself  more  than  he  is 
aware. 


RUFFED  GROUSE 
Called  also:  Partridge 

Bob-white  and  ruffed  grouse  are  the  fife  and 
drum  corps  of  the  woods.  That  some  birds 
are  wonderful  musicians  everybody  knows. 


Ruffed  Grouse 


241 


No  other  orchestra  contains  a member  who  can 
drum  without  a drum.  Even  that  famous 
drummer,  the  woodpecker,  needs  a dead,  dry, 
resonant,  hardwood  limb  to  tap  on  before  he 
can  produce  his  best  effects.  How  does  the 
grouse  beat  his  deep,  muffled,  thump,  thump, 
thumping,  rolling  tattoo?  Some  scientists  have 
staked  their  reputation  on  the  claim  that  they 
have  seen  him  drum  by  rapidly  striking  his 
wings  against  the  sides  of  his  body;  but  other 
later-day  scientists,  who  contend  that  he  beats 
only  the  air  when  his  wings  vibrate  so  fast  that 
the  sight  cannot  quite  follow  them,  are  un- 
doubtedly right. 

On  a fallen  log,  a stump,  a rail  fence  or  a wall, 
that  may  have  been  used  as  a drumming  stand 
for  many  years,  the  male  grouse  will  strut  with 
a jerking,  dandified  gait,  puff  out  his  feathers, 
ruff  his  neck  frills,  raise  and  spread  his  fan- 
shaped tail  like  a turkey  cock,  blow  out  his 
cheeks  and  neck,  then  suddenly  halt  and  begin 
to  beat  his  wings.  After  a few  slow,  measured 
thumps,  the  stiff,  strong  wings  whir  faster 
and  faster,  until  there  is  only  a blur  where  they 
vibrate.  This  is  the  grouse’s  love  song  that 
summons  a mate  to  their  trysting  place.  It 
serves  also  as  a challenge  to  a rival.  Blood  and 
feathers  may  soon  be  strewn  aroimd  the  ground, 
for  in  the  spring  grouse  will  fight  as  fiercely  as 
game-cocks.  Sportsmen  in  the  autumn  woods 


242  Birds  Every  Child  Shoidd  Know 

often  hear  grouse  drumming  at  the  old  stand, 
merely  from  excess  of  vigour  and  not  because 
they  take  the  slightest  interest  then  in  a mate. 
After  the  mating  season  is  over,  they  have  less 
chivalry  than  barnyard  roosters. 

Shy,  wary  birds  of  wooded,  hilly  country, 
grouse  are  rarely  thought  of  as  possible  pets, 
but  the  gentle  little  girl  in  the  picture  won  the 
heart  of  a drummer  and  subdued  his  wildness, 
as  you  see.  Some  people  are  trying  to  domes- 
ticate grouse  in  wire-enclosed  poultry  yards. 

Sometimes  when,  like  “the  cat  that  walked 
by  himself  ’’you  wander  “ in  the  wild  wet  woods,” 
perhaps  you  will  be  suddenly  startled  by  the 
loud  whirring  roar  of  a big  brown  grouse  that 
suddenly  hurls  itself  from  the  ground  near  your 
feet.  If  it  were  shot  from  the  mouth  of  a can- 
non it  could  surprise  you  no  less.  Then  it  sails 
away,  dodging  the  trees  and  disappears.  Gun- 
ners have  “educated”  the  intelligent  bird  into 
being,  perhaps,  the  most  wily,  difficult  game 
in  the  woods. 

Like  the  meadowlark,  flicker,  sparrows  and 
other  birds  that  spend  much  time  on  the  ground, 
the  bob-white  and  ruffed  grouse  wear  brown 
feathers,  streaked  and  barred,  to  harmonise 
perfectly  with  their  surroundings.  “To  And 
a hen  grouse  with  young  is  a memorable 
experience,  ” says  Frank  M.  Chapman.  “ While 
the  parent  is  giving  us  a lesson  in  mother  love 


A little  girl’s  rare  pet:  ruffed  grouse. 


1 


The  drummer  drumming 


Ruffed  Grouse 


243 


and  bird  intelligence, her  downy  chicks  are  teach- 
ing us  facts  in  protective  colouration  and  hered- 
ity. How  the  old  one  limps  and  flutters!  She 
can  barely  drag  herself  along  the  ground.  But 
while  we  are  watching  her,  what  has  become  of 
the  ten  or  a dozen  little  yellow  balls  we  had 
almost  stepped  on.?  Not  a feather  do  we  see, 
until,  poking  about  in  the  leaves,  we  find  one 
little  chap  hiding  here  and  another  squatting 
there,  all  perfectly  still,  and  so  like  the  leaves 
in  colour  as  to  be  nearly  invisible.” 


CHAPTER  XVII 


BIRDS  OF  THE  SHORE  AND 
MARSHES 


Killdeer 

Semipalmated  or  Ring-necked  Plover 

Least  Sandpiper 

Spotted  Sandpiper 

Woodcock 

Clapper  Rail 

SoRA  Rail 

Great  Blue  Heron 

Little  Green  Heron 

Black-crowned  Night  Heron 

American  Bittern 


KILLDEER 


TFYOU  don’t  know  the  little  killdeer  plover, 
it  is  surely  not  his  fault,  for  he  is  a noisy 
sentinel,  always  ready,  night  or  day,  to  tell  you 
his  name.  Killdee,  killdee,  he  calls  with  his 
high  voice  when  alarmed — and  he  is  usually 
beset  by  fears,  real  or  imaginary — ^but  when  at 
peace,  his  voice  is  sweet  and  low.  Much  per- 
secution from  gunners  has  made  the  naturally 
gentle  birds  of  the  shore  and  marshes  rather 
shy  and  wild.  Most  plovers  nest  in  the  Arctic 
regions,  where  man  and  his  wicked  ways  are 
unknown.  When  the  young  birds  reach  our 
land  of  liberty  and  receive  a welcome  of  hot 
shot,  the  survivors  learn  their  first  lesson  in 
shyness.  Some  killdeer,  however,  are  hatched 
in  the  United  States.  No  sportsman  worthy 
the  name  would  waste  shot  on  a bird  not  larger 
than  a robin ; one,  moreover,  with  musky  flesh ; 
yet  I have  seen  scores  of  killdeer  strung  over 
the  backs  of  gunners  in  tide-water  Virginia. 
Their  larger  cousins,  the  black-breasted,  the 
piping,  the  golden  and  Wilson’s  plovers,  who 
travel  from  the  tundras  of  the  far  North  to 
South  America  and  back  again  every  year, 
have  now  become  rare  because  too  much  cooked 


247 


248  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

along  their  long  route.  You  can  usually  tell 
a flock  of  plovers  in  flight  by  the  crescent  shape 
of  the  rapidly  moving  mass. 

With  a busy  company  of  friends,  the  killdeer 
haunts  broad  tracts  of  grassy  land,  near  water- 
uplands  or  lowlands,  or  marshy  meadows  beside 
the  sea.  Scattered  over  a chosen  feeding 
ground,  the  plovers  run  about  nimbly,  nervously, 
looking  for  trouble  as  well  as  food.  Because 
worms,  which  are  their  favourite  supper,  come 
out  of  the  ground  at  nightfall,  the  birds 
are  especially  active  then.  Grasshoppers, 
crickets,  and  other  insects  content  them  during 
the  day. 


SEMIPALMATED  PLOVER 

The  killdeer,  which  is  our  commonest  plover, 
has  a little  cousin  scarcely  larger  than  an  English 
sparrow  that  is  a miniature  of  himself,  except 
that  the  semipalmated  (half-webbed)  or  ring- 
necked plover  has  only  one  dark  band  across 
the  upper  part  of  his  white  breast,  while  the 
killdeer  wears  two  black  rings.  This  dainty 
little  beach  bird  has  brownish-gray  upper  parts 
so  like  the  colour  of  wet  sand,  that,  as  he  runs 
along  over  it,  just  in  advance  of  the  frothing 
rippies,  he  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  his  sur- 
roundings. Relying  upon  that  fact  for  pro- 


Least  Sandpiper  2^.c> 

tection,  he  will  squat  behind  a tuft  of  beach 
grass  if  you  pass  too  near  rather  than  risk 
flight. 

When  the  tide  is  out,  you  may  see  the  tiny 
forms  of  these  common  ring-necks  mingled  with 
the  ever-friendly  little  sandpipers  on  the  ex- 
posed sand  bars  and  wide  beaches  where  all 
keep  up  a constant  hunt  for  bits  of  shell  fish, 
fish  eggs  and  sand  worms. 

General  Greely  found  them  nesting  in 
Grinnell  Land  in  July,  the  males  doing  most  of 
the  incubating  as  is  customary  in  the  plover 
family,  whose  females  certainly  have  advanced 
ideas.  Downy  little  chicks  run  about  as  soon 
after  leaving  the  egg  as  they  are  dry.  In 
August  the  advance  guard  of  southbound 
flocks  begin  to  arrive  in  the  United  States 
en  route  for  Brazil — quite  a journey  in  the  world 
to  test  the  fledgling’s  wings. 


LEAST  SANDPIPER 


Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I ; 

And  fast  I gather,  bit  by  bit. 

The  scattered  driftw^ood  bleached  and  dry. 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it. 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit, — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 


250  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 


Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky; 

Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  light-houses  high. 

Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly. 

As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach, ^ 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I watch  him  as  he  skims  along 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry; 

He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 

Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 

He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong; 

He  scans  me  with  a fearless  eye. 

Stanch  friends  are  we,  well-tried  and  strong, 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously? 

My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly? 

I do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 
The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky: 

For  are  we  not  God’s  children  both, 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I ? 

Almost  every  child  I know  is  more  familiar 
with  Celia  Thaxter’s  poem  about  the  little  sand- 
piper than  with  the  bird  itself.  But  if  you  have 
the  good  fortune  to  be  at  the  seashore  in  the 
late  summer,  when  flocks  of  the  friendly  mites 
come  to  visit  us  from  the  Arctic  regions  on  their 
way  south,  you  can  scarcely  fail  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  companion  of  Mrs.  Thax- 
ter’s lonely  walks  along  the  beach  at  the  Isles 
of  Shoals  where  her  father  kept  the  lighthouse. 


spotted  Sandpiper 


251 


The  least  sandpipers,  peeps,  ox-eyes  or  stints, 
as  they  are  variously  called,  are  only  about  the 
size  of  sparrows — too  small  for  any  self- 
respecting  gunner  to  bag,  therefore  they  are 
still  abundant.  Their  light,  dingy-brown  and 
gray,  finely  speckled  backs  are  about  the  colour 
of  the  mottled  sand  they  run  over  so  nimbly, 
and  their  breasts  are  as  white  as  the  froth  of 
the  waves  that  almost  never  touch  them. 
Beach  birds  become  marvellously  quick  in 
reckoning  the  fraction  of  a second  when  they 
must  run  from  under  the  combing  wave  about 
to  break  over  their  little  heads.  Plovers  rely 
on  their  fleet  feet  to  escape  a wetting.  Least 
sandpipers  usually  fly  upward  and  onward  if  a 
deluge  threatens;  but  they  have  a cousin,  the 
semipalmated  (half-webbed)  sandpiper  that 
swims  well  when  the  unexpected  water  sud- 
denly lifts  it  off  its  feet. 

These  busy,  cheerful,  sprightly  little  peepers 
are  always  ready  to  welcome  to  their  flocks 
other  birds — ring-necked  plovers,  tumstones, 
snipe  and  phalaropes.  If  by  no  other  sign, 
you  may  distinguish  sandpipers  by  their  con- 
stant call,  peep-peep. 

SPOTTED  SANDPIPER 

Do  you  know  the  spotted  sandpiper,  teeter, 
tilt-up,  teeter-tail,  teeter-snipe,  or  tip-up,  which- 


252  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

ever  you  may  choose  to  call  :t?  As  if  it  had 
not  yet  decided  whether  to  be  a beach  bird  or 
a woodland  dweller,  a wader  or  a perching 
songster,  it  is  equally  nt  home  along  the  sea- 
shore or  on  wooded  uplands,  wherever  ditches, 
pools,  streams,  creeks,  swamps,  and  wet  mea- 
dows furnish  its  fa^murite  foods.  It  stays 
with  us  through  the  long  summer.  Did  you 
ever  see  it  go  through  any  of  the  queer  motions 
that  have  earned  for  it  so  many  names?  Jerk- 
ing up  first  its  head,  then  its  tail,  it  walks  with 
a funny,  bobbing,  tipping,  see-saw  gait,  as  if 
it  were  self-conscious  and  conceited.  Still 
another  popular  name  was  given  from  its  sharp 
call  peet-weet,  peet-weet,  rapidly  repeated,  and 
usually  uttered  as  the  bird  flies  in  graceful 
curves  over  the  water  or  inland  fields. 


WOODCOCK 

Called  alsL : Blind,  Wall-eyed,  Mud,  Bigheaded, 
Wood,  and  Whistling  Snipe;  Bog-sucker;  Bog- 
bird;  Timber  Doodle 

Whenever  you  see  little  groups  of  clean-cut 
holes  dotted  over  the  earth  in  low,  wet  ground, 
you  may  know  that  either  the  woodcock  or 
Wilson’s  snipe  has  been  there  probing  for  worms. 
Not  even  the  woodpecker’s  combination  tool 


Woodcock 


253 


is  more  wonderfully  adapted  to  its  work  than 
the  bill  of  these  snipe,  which  is  a long,  straight 
boring  instrument,  its  upper  half  fitted  with  a 
flexible  tip  for  hooking  the  worm  out  of  its  hole 
as  you  would  lift  a string  out  of  a jar  on  your 
hooked  finger.  Down  goes  the  bill  into  the 
mud,  sunk  to  the  nostrils;  then  the  upper  tip 
feels  around  for  its  slippery  victim.  You  need 
scarcely  hope  to  see  the  probing  performance 
because  earth-worms,  like  mice,  come  out  of 
their  holes  after  dark,  which  is  why  snipe  are 
most  active  then. 

A little  boy  once  asked  me  this  conundnun  of 
his  own  making:  “What  is  the  difference 
between  Martin  Luther  and  a woodcock?” 
Just  a few  differences  suggested  themselves, 
but  I did  not  guess  right  the  very  first  time; 
can  you  ? “ One  didn’t  like  a Diet  of  Worms  and 
the  other  does,”  was  the  small  boy’s  answer. 

After  the  ground  freezes  hard  in  the  north- 
ern United  States  and  Canada,  the  woodcock 
is  compelled  to  go  south  of  Virginia.  But  by 
the  time  the  skimk  cabbage  and  bright-green, 
fluted  leaves  of  hellebore  are  pushing  through 
the  bogs  and  wet  woodlands  in  earliest  spring, 
back  he  comes  again.  An  odd-looking,  thick- 
necked, chunky  fellow  he  is,  less  than  a foot  in 
length,  his  long,  straight,  stout  bill  sticking  far 
out  from  his  triangular  head;  his  eyes  placed 
so  far  back  in  the  upper  comers  that  he  must 


254  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

be  able  to  see  behind  him  quite  as  well  as  he 
can  look  ahead;  the  streaks  and  bars  of  his 
mottled  russet-brown,  gray  and  buff  and  black 
upper  parts  being  so  laid  on  that  he  is  in  per- 
fect harmony  with  the  russet  leaves,  earth  and 
underbrush  of  his  woodland  home.  When  his 
mate  is  sitting  on  her  nest,  the  mimicry  of  her 
surroundings  is  so  perfect  it  is  well-nigh  im- 
possible to  find  her. 

Sportsmen  pursue  both  the  woodcock  and 
Wilson’s  snipe  relentlessly,  but  happily  they 
are  no  easy  targets.  Rising  on  short,  stiff, 
whistling  wings  they  fly  in  a zig-zag,  erratic 
flight,  and  quickly  drop  to  cover  again,  con- 
tinually breaking  the  scent  for  a pursuing 
dog. 


RAILS 

Rails  are  such  shy,  skulking  hiders  among 
the  tall  marsh  grasses  that  “every  child”  need 
never  hope  to  know  them  all ; but  a few  mem- 
bers of  the  family  that  are  both  abundant  and 
noisy,  may  be  readily  recognised  by  their  voices 
alone. 

All  rails  prefer  to  escape  from  an  intruder 
through  the  sedges  in  well-worn  runways  rather 
than  trust  their  short,  rounded  wings  to  bear 
them  beyond  danger ; and  for  forcing  their  way 
through  grassy  jungles,  their  narrow-breasted, 


Rails 


255 


wedge-shaped  bodies  are  perfectly  adapted. 
Compressed  almost  to  a point  in  front,  but 
broad  and  blunt  behind  where  their  queer 
little  short-pointed  tails  stand  up,  the  rails’ 
small  figures  thread  their  way  in  and  out  of  the 
mazes  over  the  oozy  ground  with  wonderful 
rapidity. 

“As  thin  as  a rail”  means  much  to  the  cook 
who  plucks  one.  It  offers  even  a smaller  bite  than 
a robin  to  the  epicure.  When  a gunner  routs 
a rail  it  reluctantly  rises  a few  feet  above  the 
grasses,  flies  with  much  fluttering,  trailing  its 
legs  after  it,  but  quickly  sinks  in  the  sedges 
again.  Except  in  game  bags,  you  rarely  see 
a rail’s  varied  brown  and  gray  back  or  its  barred 
breast.  The  bill  is  longer  than  the  head.  The 
long,  widespread,  flat  toes  help  the  owner  to 
tread  a dinner  out  of  the  mud  as  well  as  to 
swim  across  an  inlet;  and  the  short  hind  toes 
enable  him  to  cling  when  he  runs  up  the  rushes 
to  reach  the  tassels  of  grain  at  the  top.  No 
doubt  you  once  played  with  some  mechanical 
toy  that  made  a noise  something  like  the 
peculiar,  rolling  cackle  of  the  clapper  rail. 
This  “ marsh  hen,  ” which  is  common  in  the  salt 
meadows  along  our  coast  from  Long  Island 
southward,  continually  betrays  itself  by  its 
voice;  otherwise  you  might  never  suspect  its 
presence  unless  you  are  in  the  habit  of  pushing 
a punt  up  a creek  to  get  acquainted  with  the 


256  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

interesting  shy  creatures  that  dwell  in  what 
Thoreau  called  “Nature’s  sanctuary.” 

The  clapper’s  cousin,  the  sora,  or  Carolina 
rail,  so  well  known  to  gunners,  alas ! if  not  to 
“ every  child,  ” delights  to  live  wherever  wild 
rice  grows  along  inland  lakes  and  rivers  or 
along  the  coast.  Its  sweetly  whistled  spring 
song  ker-wee,  ker-wee,  and  “rolling  whinny” 
give  place  in  autumn  to  the  'kuk,  kuk,  ’k-’k-’k- 
'kuk  imitated  by  alleged  sportsmen  in  search 
of  a mere  trifle  of  flesh  that  they  fill  with  shot. 
As  Mrs.  Wright  says  of  the  bobolinks  (neigh- 
bours of  the  soras  in  the  rice  fields)  so  may  it 
be  written  of  them ; they  only  serve  “ to  length- 
en some  weary  dinner  where  a collection  of 
animal  and  vegetable  bric-a-brac  takes  the 
place  of  satisfactory  nourishment.” 


GREAT  BLUE  HERON 

Standing  motionless  as  the  sphinx,  with  his 
neck  drawn  in  until  his  crested  head  rests 
between  his  angular  shoulders,  the  big,  long- 
legged,  bluish-gray  heron  depends  upon  his 
stillness  and  protective  colouring  to  escape  the 
notice  of  his  prey,  and  of  his  human  foes  (for 
he  has  no  others).  In  spite  of  his  size — and  he 
stands  four  feet  high  without  stockings — ^it  takes 
the  sharpest  eyes  to  detect  him  as  he  waits  in 


Great  Blue  Heron 


257 


some  shallow  pool  among  the  sedges  along  the 
creek  or  river  side,  silently,  solemnly,  hour  after 
hour,  for  a little  fish,  frog,  lizard,  snake,  or 
some  large  insect  to  come  within  striking  dis- 
tance. With  a sudden  stroke  of  his  long,  strong, 
sharp  bill,  he  either  snaps  up  his  victim,  or  runs 
it  through.  A fish  will  be  tossed  in  the  air 
before  being  swallowed,  head  downward,  that 
the  fins  may  not  scratch  his  very  long,  slender 
throat.  When  you  are  eating  ice  cream,  don’t 
you  wish  your  throat  were  as  long  as  this 
heron’s? 

A gunner,  who  wantonly  shoots  at  any  living 
target,  will  usually  try  to  excuse  himself  for 
striking  down  this  stately,  picturesque  bird 
into  a useless  mass  of  flesh  and  feathers,  by 
saying  that  herons  help  themselves  to  too  many 
fish.  (He  forgets  about  all  the  mice  and 
reptiles  they  destroy.)  But  perhaps  birds,  as 
well  as  men,  are  entitled  to  a fair  share  of  the 
good  things  of  the  Creator.  Some  people 
would  prefer  the  sight  of  this  majestic  bird  to 
the  small,  worthless  fish  he  eats.  What  do  you 
think  about  protecting  him  by  law?  Any  one 
may  shoot  him  now.  The  broad  side  of  a barn 
would  be  about  as  good  a test  of  a marksman’s 
skill. 

The  evil  that  birds  do  surely  lives  after  them ; 
the  good  they  do  for  us  is  far  too  little  ap- 
preciated. Almost  the  last  snowy  heron  and 


258  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

the  last  egret  of  Southern  swamps  have  yielded 
their  bodies  to  the  knife  of  the  plume  hunter, 
who  cuts  out  the  exquisite  decorations  these 
birds  wear  during  the  nesting  season.  Inas- 
much as  all  the  heron  babies  depend  upon 
their  parents  through  an  unusually  long,  help- 
less infancy,  the  little  orphans  are  left  to  die  by 
starvation.  For  what  end  is  the  slaughter  of 
the  innocents?  Merely  that  the  unthinking 
heads  of  vain  women  may  be  decked  out  with 
aigrettes!  Don’t  blame  the  poor  hunters  too 
much  when  the  plumes  are  worth  their  weight 
in  gold. 

LITTLE  GREEN  HERON 
Called  also:  Poke;  Chuckle-head 

This  most  abundant  member  of  his  tropical 
tribe  that  spends  the  summer  with  us,  is  a shy, 
solitary  bird  of  the  swamps  where  you  would 
lose  your  rubber  boots  in  the  quagmire  if  you 
attempted  to  know  him  too  intimately.  But 
you  may  catch  a glimpse  of  him  as  he  wades 
about  the  edge  of  a pond  or  creek  with  slow, 
calculated  steps,  looking  for  his  supper.  All 
herons  become  more  active  toward  evening 
because  their  prey  does.  By  day,  this  heron, 
like  his  big,  blue  cousin,  might  be  mistaken  for 


A flock  of  friendly 


One  little  sandpxper 


The  coot 


Little  Green  Heron 


259 


a stump  or  snag  among  the  sedges  and  bushes 
by  the  waterside,  so  dark  and  still  is  he.  Herons 
are  accused  of  the  tropical  vice  of  laziness ; but 
surely  a bird  that  travels  from  northern  Canada 
to  the  tropics  and  back  again  every  year  to 
earn  its  living,  as  the  little  green  heron  does, 
is  not  altogether  lazy.  Startle  him,  and  he 
springs  into  the  air  with  a loud  squawk,  flap- 
ping his  broad  wings  and  trailing  his  greenish- 
yellow  legs  behind  him,  like  the  storks  you  see 
painted  on  Japanese  fans. 

He  and  his  mate  have  long,  dark-green  crests 
on  their  odd-shaped,  receding  heads  and  some 
lengthened,  pointed  feathers  between  the  shoul- 
ders of  their  green  or  grayish-green  hunched 
backs.  Their  figures  are  rather  queer.  The 
reddish-chestnut  colour  on  their  necks  fades 
into  the  brownish-ash  of  their  under  parts, 
divided  by  a line  of  dark  spots  on  the  white 
throat  that  widen  on  the  breast.  Although 
the  little  green  heron  is  the  smallest  member  of 
this  tribe  of  large  birds  that  we  see  in  the 
Northern  States  and  Canada,  it  is  about  a foot 
and  a half  long,  larger  than  any  bird,  except 
one  of  its  own  cousins,  that  you  are  likely  to 
see  in  its  marshy  haunts. 

Unlike  many  of  their  kind  a pair  of  these 
herons  prefer  to  build  their  rickety  nests  apart 
by  themselves  rather  in  one  of  those  large, 
sociable,  noisy  and  noisome  colonies  which  we 


26o  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

associate  with  the  heron  tribe.  Flocking  is 
sometimes  a fatal  habit. 


BLACK-CROWNED  NIGHT  HERON 
Called  also:  Quawk;  Qua  Bird 

When  the  night  herons  return  to  us  from  the 
South  in  April,  they  go  straight  to  the  home  of 
their  ancestors,  to  which  they  are  devotedly 
attached — rickety,  ramshackle  heronries,  mere 
bundles  of  sticks  in  the  tops  of  trees  in  some 
swamp — ^and  begin  at  once  to  repair  them. 
The  cuckoo’s  and  the  dove’s  nests  are  fine 
pieces  of  architecture  compared  with  a heron’s. 
Is  it  not  a wonder  that  the  helpless  heron  babies 
do  not  tumble  through  the  loose  twigs?  When 
they  are  old  enough  to  climb  around  their  lat- 
ticed nursery,  they  still  make  no  attempt  to 
leave  it,  and  several  more  weeks  must  pass  be- 
fore they  attempt  to  fly.  If  there  is  an  ancient 
heronry  in  your  neighbourhood,  as  there  is  in 
mine,  don’t  attempt  to  visit  the  untidy,  ill- 
smelling place  on  a hot  day.  One  would  like 
to  spray  the  entire  colony  with  a deodoriser. 

Thanks  to  the  night  heron’s  habits  that  keep 
him  concealed  by  day  when  gunners  are  abroad, 
a few  large  heronries  still  exist  within  an  hour’s 
ride  of  New  York,  in  spite  of  much  persecution. 


Half-grown  little  green  herons  on  dress  parade 


American  Bittern 


261 


Unlike  the  solitary  little  green  cousin,  the  black- 
crowned  heron  delights  in  company,  and  a 
hundred  noisy  pairs  may  choose  to  nest  in  some 
favourite  spot.  How  they  squawk  over  their 
petty  quarrels!  Wilson  likened  the  noise  to 
tliat  of  “ two  or  three  hundred  Indians  choking 
one  another.” 

Only  when  they  have  young  fledglings  to  feed 
do  these  herons  hunt  for  food  in  broad  day- 
light. But  as  the  light  fades  they  become  in- 
creasingly active  and  noisy;  even  after  it  is 
pitch  dark,  when  the  fishermen  go  eeling,  you 
may  hear  them  quawking  continually  as  they 
fly  up  and  down  the  creek.  Big,  pearly-gray 
birds  (they  stand  fully  two  feet  high)  with 
black-crowned  heads,  from  which  their  long, 
narrow,  white  wedding  feathers  fall  over  the 
black  top  of  the  back,  the  night  herons  so 
harmonise  with  the  twilight  as  to  seem  a part 
of  it. 

AMERICAN  BITTERN 

Called  also:  Stake-driver;  Poke;  Freckled 
Heron;  Booming  Bittern;  Indian  Hen 

Even  if  you  have  never  seen  this  shy  hermit  of 
large  swamps  and  marshy  meadows  you  must 
know  him  by  his  remarkable  “barbaric  yawp.” 
Not  a muscle  does  this  brown  and  blackish  and 


262  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

buff  freckled  fellow  move  as  he  stands  waiting 
for  prey  to  come  within  striking  distance  of 
what  appears  to  be  a dead  stump.  Sometimes 
he  stands  with  his  head  drawn  in  until  it  rests 
on  his  back ; or,  he  may  hold  his  head  erect  and 
pointed  upward  when  he  looks  like  a sharp 
snag.  While  he  meditates  pleasantly  on  the 
flavour  of  a coming  dinner,  he  suddenly  snaps 
and  gulps,  filling  his  lungs  with  air,  then  loudly 
bellows  forth  the  most  unmusical  bird  cry  you 
are  ever  likely  to  hear.  You  may  recognise  it 
across  the  marsh  half  a mile  away  or  more.  A 
nauseated  child  would  go  through  no  more  con- 
vulsive gestures  than  this  happy  hermit  makes 
every  time  he  lifts  up  his  voice  to  call,  pump- 
er-lunk,  pump-er-lunk,  pump-er-lunk.  Still 
another  noise  has  earned  him  one  of  his  many 
popular  names  because  it  sounds  like  a stake 
being  driven  into  the  mud. 

A booming  bittern  I know  sits  hour  after 
hour,  almost  every  day  in  summer,  year  after 
year,  on  a dark,  decaying  pile  of  an  old  dock 
in  the  creek.  Our  canoe  glides  over  the  water 
so  silently  it  rarely  disturbs  him.  The  timid 
bird  relies  on  his  protective  colouring  to  con- 
ceal him  in  so  exposed  a place  and  profits  by 
his  fearlessness  in  broad  daylight  next  to  an 
excellent  feeding  ground.  At  low  tide  he  walks 
about  sedately  on  the  muddy  flats  treading  out 
a dinner.  Kingfishers  rattle  up  and  down  the 


American  Bittern 


263 


creek,  cackling  rails  hide  in  the  sedges  behind 
it,  red-winged  blackbirds  flute  above  the 
phalanxes  of  rushes  on  its  banks : but  the  bit- 
tern makes  more  noise,  especially  toward  even- 
ing, than  all  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  swampy 
meadows  except  the  frogs,  whose  voices  he 
forever  silences  when  he  can.  Frogs,  legs  and 
all,  are  his  favourite  delicacy. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  FASTEST  FLYERS 

Canada  Goosb 
Wild  Ducks 
Herring  Gull 


CANADA  GOOSE 


/^F  THE  millions  of  migrants  that  stream 
across  the  sky  every  spring  and  autumn, 

none  attract  so  much  attention  as  the  wild 

0 

geese.  How  their  mellow  honk,  honk  thrills 
one  when  the  birds  pass  like  ships  in  the  night! 
Such  big,  strong,  rapid  flyers  have  little  to  fear 
in  travelling  by  daylight  too,  but  gunners  have 
taught  them  the  wisdom  of  keeping  up  so  high 
that  they  look  like  mere  specks.  It  must  be 
a very  dull  child  without  imagination,  who  is 
not  stirred  by  the  flight  of  birds  that  are 
launched  on  a journey  of  at  least  two  thousand 
miles.  Don’t  you  wish  you  were  as  familiar 
with  the  map  as  these  migrants  must  be? 
Usually  geese  travel  in  a wedge-shaped  flock, 
headed  by  some  old,  experienced  leader;  but 
sometimes,  with  their  long  necks  outstretched, 
they  follow  one  another  in  Indian  file  and  shoot 
across  the  clouds  as  straight  as  an  arrow. 

Geese  spend  much  more  time  on  land  than 
ducks  do.  If  you  will  study  the  habits  of  the 
common  barnyard  goose  you  will  learn  many 
of  the  ways  of  its  wild  relations  that  nest  too 
far  north  to  be  watched  by  “every  child.” 
Canada  geese  that  have  been  wounded  by 
267 


268  Birds  Every  Child  SItotild  Know 

sportsmen  in  the  fall,  can  be  kept  on  a farm 
perfectly  contecxted  all  winter;  but  when  the 
honking  flocks  return  from  the  south  in  March 
or  April,  they  rarely  resist  “ the  call  of  the  wild,” 
and  away  they  go  toward  their  kin  and  freedom. 


WILD  DUCKS 

Birds  that  spend  their  summers  for  the  most 
part  north  of  the  United  States  and  travel  past 
us  faster  than  the  fastest  automobile  racer  or 
locomotive — and  an  hundred  miles  an  hour  is 
not  an  uncommon  speed  for  ducks  to  fly — need 
have  little  to  fear,  you  might  suppose.  But  so 
mercilessly  are  they  hunted  whenever  they  stop 
to  rest,  that  few  birds  are  more  timid. 

River  and  pond  ducks,  that  have  the  most 
delicious  flavour  because  they  feed  on  wild  rice, 
celery  and  other  dainty  fare,  frequent  sluggish 
streams  and  shallow  ponds.  There  they  tip 
up  their  bodies  in  a funny  way  to  probe  about 
the  muddy  bottoms,  their  heads  stuck  down 
under  water,  their  tails  and  flat,  webbed  feet 
in  the  air  directly  above  them,  just  as  you  have 
seen  barnyard  ducks  stand  on  their  heads. 
They  like  to  dabble  along  the  shores,  too,  and 
draw  out  roots,  worms,  seeds  and  tiny  shellfish 
imbedded  in  the  banks.  Of  course  they  get  a 
good  deal  of  mud  in  their  mouths,  but  fortun- 


Black-crowned  night  heron  rising  from  a morass 


Canada  geese 


Wild  Ducks 


269 


ately  their  broad,  flat  bills  have  strainers  on  the 
sides,  and  merely  by  shutting  them  tight,  the 
mud  and  water  are  forced  out  of  the  gutters. 
After  nightfall  they  seem  especially  active  and 
noisy. 

In  every  slough  where  mallards,  blue-  and 
green-winged  teal,  widgeons,  black  duck  and 
pintails  settle  down  to  rest  in  autumn,  gunners 
'wait  concealed  in  the  sedges.  Decoying  the 
sociable  birds  by  means  of  painted  wooden 
images  of  ducks  floating  on  the  water  near  the 
blind,  they  commence  the  slaughter  at  day- 
break. But  ducks  are  of  all  targets  the  most 
difficult,  perhaps,  for  the  tyro  to  hit.  On  the 
slightest  alarm  they  bound  from  the  water  on 
whistling  wings  and  are  off  at  a speed  that  only 
the  most  expert  shot  overtakes.  No  self- 
respecting  sportsman  would  touch  the  little 
wood  duck — the  most  beautiful  member  of  its 
family  group.  It  is  as  choicely  coloured  and 
marked  as  the  Chinese  mandarin  duck,  and  a 
possible  possession  for  every  one  who  has  a 
country  place  with  woods  and  water  on  it. 
Unlike  its  relatives,  the  wood  duck  nests  in 
hollow  trees  and  carries  its  babies  to  the  water 
in  its  mouth  as  a cat  carries  its  kittens. 

The  large  group  of  sea  and  bay  ducks,  con- 
tains the  canvas-back,  red-head  and  other 
vegetarian  ducks,  dear  to  the  sportsman  and 
epicure.  These  birds  may,  perhaps,  be  familiar 


270  Birds  Every  Child  Shoidd  Know 

to  “every  child”  as  they  hang  by  the  necks 
in  butcher-shop  windows,  but  rarely  in  life. 
Enormous  flocks  once  descended  upon  the 
Chesapeake  Bay  region.  To  Virginia  and 
Maryland,  therefore,  hastened  all  the  gunners 
in  the  East  until  the  canvas-back,  at  least,  is 
even  more  rare  in  the  sportsman’s  paradise  than 
it  is  on  the  gourmand’s  plate.  Every  kind  of 
duck  is  now  served  up  as  canvas-back.  Some 
sea  ducks,  however,  which  are  fish  eaters,  have 
flesh  too  tough,  rank,  and  oily  for  the  table. 
They  dive  for  their  food,  often  to  a great  depth, 
pursuing  and  catching  fish  under  water  like  the 
saw-billed  mergansers  or  shelldrakes  which 
form  a distinct  group.  The  surf  scoters,  or 
black  coots,  so  abundant  off  the  Atlantic  coast 
in  winter,  dive  constantly  to  feed  on  mussels, 
clams  or  scallops.  Naturally  such  athletic 
birds  are  very  tough. 

With  the  exception  of  the  wood  duck,  all 
ducks  nest  on  the  ground.  Twigs,  leaves  and 
grasses  form  the  rude  cradle  for  the  eggs,  and, 
as  a final  touch  of  devotion,  the  mother  bird 
plucks  feathers  from  her  own  soft  breast  for  the 
eggs  to  lie  in.  When  there  is  any  work  to  be 
done  the  selfish,  dandified  drakes  go  off  by 
themselves,  leaving  the  entire  care  of  raising  the 
family  to  their  mates.  Then  they  moult  and 
sometimes  lose  so  many  feathers  they  are  un- 
able to  fly.  But  by  the  time  the  ducklings  are 


Herring  Gull 


271 


well  grown  and  strong  of  wing,  the  drake  joins 
the  family,  one  flock  joins  another,  and  the 
ducks  begin  their  long  journey  southward. 
But  very  few  children,  even  in  Canada,  can  ever 
hope  to  know  them  in  their  inaccessible  swampy 
homes. 


HERRING  GULL 
Called  also:  Winter  Gull 

“Every  child”  who  has  crossed  the  ocean  or 
even  a New  York  ferry  in  winter,  knows  the  big, 
pearly-gray  and  white  gulls  that  come  from  north- 
ern nesting  grounds  in  November,  just  before 
the  ice  locks  their  larder,  to  spend  the  winter 
about  our  open  waterways.  On  the  great 
lakes  and  the  larger  rivers  and  harbours  along 
our  coast,  you  may  see  the  scattered  flocks 
sailing  about  serenely  on  broad,  strong  wings, 
gliding  and  skimming  and  darting  with  a poetry 
of  motion  few  birds  can  equal.  There  are  at 
least  three  things  one  never  tires  of  watching: 
the  blaze  of  a wood  Are,  the  breaking  of  waves 
on  a beach,  and  the  flight  of  a flock  of  gulls. 

Not  many  years  ago  gulls  became  alarmingly 
scarce.  Why?  Because  silly  girls  and  women, 
to  follow  fashion,  trimmed  their  hats  with  gull’s 
wings  until  hundreds  of  thousands  of  these 


272  Birds  Every  Child  Should  Know 

birds  and  their  exquisite  little  cousins,  the 
terns  or  sea-swallows,  had  been  slaughtered. 
Then  some  people  said  the  massacre  must  stop 
and  happily  the  law  now  says  so  too.  Paid  keep- 
ers patrol  some  of  the  islands  where  gulls  and 
terns  nest,  which  is  the  reason  why  you  may  see 
ashy-brown  young  gulls  in  almost  every  flock. 
When  they  mature,  a deep-pearl  mantle  covers 
their  backs  and  wings,  and  their  breasts,  heads 
and  tails  become  snowy  white.  Their  colour- 
ing now  suggests  fogs  and  white-capped  waves. 

Why  protect  birds  that  are  not  fit  for  food 
and  that  kill  no  mice  nor  insects  in  the  farmer’s 
fields?  is  often  asked.  A wise  man  once  said 
“the  beautiful  is  as  useful  as  the  useful,”  but 
the  picturesque  gulls  are  not  preserved  merely 
to  enliven  marine  pictures  and  to  please  the  eye 
of  travellers.  They  fill  the  valuable  office  of 
scavengers  of  the  sea.  Lobsters  and  crabs, 
among  many  other  creatures  under  the  ocean, 
gulls,  terns  and  petrels,  among  many  creatures 
over  it,  do  for  the  water  what  the  turkey  buz- 
zard does  for  the  land — rid  it  of  enormous 
quantities  of  refuse.  When  one  watches  hun- 
dreds of  gulls  following  the  garbage  scows  out 
of  New  York  harbour,  or  sailing  in  the  wake  of  an 
ocean  liner  a thousand  miles  or  more  away 
from  land,  to  pick  up  the  refuse  thrown  over- 
board from  the  ship’s  kitchen,  one  realises  the 
excellence  of  Dame  Naturi’s  housecleaning. 


The  feather-lined  nest  of  a wild  duck 


Sea  gulls  in  the  wake  of  a garbage  scow  cleansing  New  York  harbour  of  floating  refuse 


Herring  Gull 


273 


Gulls  are  greedy  creatures.  No  sooner  will 
one  member  of  a flock  swoop  down  upon  a 
morsel  of  food,  than  a horde  of  hungry  com- 
panions, in  hot  pursuit,  chase  after  him  to  try 
to  frighten  him  into  dropping  his  dinner.  With 
a harsh,  laughing  cry,  akak,  kak,  akak,  kak,  kak, 
they  wheel  and  float  about  a feeding  ground 
for  hours  at  a time. 

And  they  fly  incredibly  far  and  fast.  A 
flock  that  has  followed  an  ocean  greyhound  all 
day  will  settle  down  to  sleep  at  night  “ bedded  ” 
on  the  rolling  water  like  ducks  while  “rocked 
in  the  cradle  of  the  deep.”  After  a rest  that 
may  last  till  dawn,  they  rise  refreshed,  fly  in 
the  direction  of  the  vanished  steamer  and 
actually  overtake  it  with  apparent  ease  in  time 
to  pick  up  the  scraps  from  the  breakfast  table. 
Reliable  sailors  say  the  same  birds  follow  a ship 
from  our  shores  all  the  way  across  the  Atlantic. 


♦ :v>. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Accenter,  58. 

Bellbird,  12, 

Bittern,  40,  263. 

American,  261. 

Booming,  261,  262. 

Alackbird,  149. 

Crow,  148. 

Red- winged,  40,  1 1 1 , 
141,  142,  113,  166, 
263. 

Rusty,  143- 

Swamp,  141- 

Thrush,  143. 

Bluebird,  hi,  vi,  g,  10,  ii, 
12,  29,  36,  97,  104, 
128,  145,  166,  191, 
231- 

Blue  Jay,  23,  24,  79,  83,  84, 
128,  134,  i53»  156, 
157,  163,  198,  217, 
227,  232. 

Bobolink,  137,  138, 139,  140, 
150,  190,  238,  256. 

Bob-white,  144,  218,  237, 
238,  239,  240,  242. 

Bog-bird,  252. 

Bog-sucker,  252. 

Bonnet-bird,  82. 

Bull-bat,  177- 

Bunting,  130. 

Bay- winged,  113. 

Indigo,  128,  13 1,  169. 

Snow,  124. 

Butcherbird,  79,  80. 

Buzzard,  214. 

Turkey,  213,  272. 


Canvas-back,  270. 

Cardinal,  23,  38,  48,  72,  83, 

^ . ^7.  133.  134. 

Catbird,  15,  42,  44»  45.  4^^ 
47,  49,  72,  163. 
Cedarbird,  82,  84,  85,  86. 
Chat,  Yellow-breasted,  47,, 
55,  ^3.  64,  74,  128. 
Chebec,  161,  170,  171. 
Cherry-bird,  82. 

Chewink,  129,  130,  132. 
Chickadee,  19,  20,  21,  22^ 
23,  24,  25,  28,  29, 
130,  189,  191,  193^ 
238. 

Chimney  swift,  180. 

Chippy,  1 16,  1 1 7,  1 18. 

Winter,  119. 
Chuckle-head,  258. 

Chuck- will ’s- widow,  177. 
Clape,  199. 

Coot,  221. 

Black,  270. 

Cowbird,  56,  57,  63,  74,  i39. 
140,  141,  149,  150. 
177,  180,  207. 
Creeper,  Brown,  26,  58. 
Crow,  iv,  24,  63,  149. 

American,  153,  154,. 

ISS.  156.  157.  163, 

230. 

Carrion,  214. 

Rain,  205. 

Cuckoo,  207,  210,  236,  260. 
Black-billed,  205. 
Yellow-billed,  v,  43, 
205,  206. 


Canary,  115,  128. 

Wild,  53,  124,  125. 


Darter,  Big  Blue,  219. 
Little  Blue,  219. 


277 


278 


Index 


Devil  Downhead,  25. 

Dove,  236,  237,  260. 
Carolina,  235. 
Mourning,  235. 

Duck,  V,  63,  221,  271,  273. 
Black,  269. 
Canvas-back,  269. 
Chinese  mandarin,  269. 
Red-headed , 269. 
Wild,  268. 

Wood,  269,  270. 

Eagle,  80,  221,  222,  224. 

• Bald,  220,  225. 

Golden,  222. 

Falcon,  Rusty-crowned,  223. 
Finch,  108. 

Grass,  113. 

Purple,  126,  127,  13 1. 
Firebird,  146,  193. 

Flicker,  144,  189,  193,  198, 
199,  200,  201,  242. 
Flycatcher,  46,  66,  80,  140, 
161,  162,  196,  198. 

Crested,  82,  161,  165, 
166,  169,  191. 
Dusky,  166,  170. 

Least,  1 61,  170,  1 71. 

Goatsucker,  179. 

Goldfinch,  v,  53,  85. 

American,  124,  125, 

126,  127,  139. 

Goose,  221. 

Canada,  267. 

Goshawk,  215,  220. 

Grackle,  143,  150,  166. 
Bronzed,  148. 

Purple,  148. 

Grosbeak,  108. 

Blue,  128. 

Cardinal,  i33* 

Pine,  29. 
Red-breasted,  13  !• 
Rose-breasted,  114,  i3i» 
132,  i33»  134. 
Grouse,  192,  238,  241,  242. 


Grouse,  Ruffed,  237,  238, 
240,  242. 

Gull,  221,  225,  272,  273. 
Herring,  271. 

Winter,  271. 

Halcyon,  208. 

Hang-nest,  146. 

Hawk,  iv,  24,  80,  162,  163, 
221,  222,  224,  226, 
227,  230,  239. 
American  Sparrow,  1 9 1 , 
223. 

Chicken,  215,  218,  219. 
Cooper’s,  215,  219. 
Fish,  208,  224,  225. 
Hen,  215,  216,  218. 
Killy,  223. 

Marsh,  229. 

Mosquito,  177. 

Mouse,  223. 

Partridge,  220. 

Red,  218. 

Red-shouldered,  215, 
216,  :^I7,  218,  220. 
Red-tailed,  218,  220. 
Sharp-shinned , 215, 

219. 

Winter,  215. 

Hen-hawk,  Blue,  220. 

Hen,  Indian,  261. 

Marsh,  255. 

Heron,  257,  258,  259,  261. 
Black-crowned  Night, 
260,  261. 

Freckled,  261. 

Great  Blue,  256. 

Little  Green,  258,  259. 
High-hole,  199* 
Hummingbird,  vi,  29,  170, 
176,  190,  201,  236. 
Ruby- throated,  183, 
184,  185,  186. 

Indigo-bird,  128. 

Jay,  Canada,  I57»  158. 
Jenny  Wren,  236. 


Index 


279 


Joree,  129* 

Junco,  120,  122,  123)  124. 

Kingbird,  v,  80,  145,  161, 
163,  164,  165,  223. 
Kingfisher,  40,  63,  83,  102, 
128,  210,  262. 

Belted,  208. 

Kinglet,  21,  29,  189. 

Golden-crowned,  28. 
Ruby-crowned,  28,  29. 

Lark,  Old-field,  143. 
Lettuce-bird,  124. 

Linnet,  126. 

Logger-head,  79,  81,  82. 

Mallard,  269. 

Martin,  104. 

Bee,  163. 

Purple,  95,  96,  97,  98. 
Sand,  loi. 

Mavis,  41. 

May  bird,  137. 

Meadowlark,  113,  143,  144, 

145,  150,  178,  199, 
242. 

Meatbird,  157. 

Merganser,  270. 
Mockingbird,  45,  46,  47,  48, 

_ 49)  55)  79- 
French,  41. 

Yellow,  65. 

Moose-bird,  157. 

Nighthawk,  93,  176,  177, 
179,182. 

Nightingale,  49. 

Virginia,  133* 

Nightjar,  177. 

Nuthatch,  21,  26,  28,  29,  58, 
189,  191. 

Red-breasted,  26,  28. 
White-breasted,  25,  27. 

Oriole,  vi,  88,  140,  148,  206. 
Baltimore,  6«;,  72,  14^, 

146,  147,  149,  150. 


Oriole,  Golden,  146. 

Orchard,  145,  146,  147. 
Ortolan,  137* 

Osprey,  221,  224,  225. 
Oven-bird,  42,  54,  58,  59, 
61,  66,  122,  128,  177. 
Owl,  191,  215,  224,  225,  226, 
227,  231. 

Barn,  227,  228. 

Barred,  230. 

Hoot,  230. 

Long-eared,  229. 
Marsh,  229. 

Meadow,  229. 
Monkey-faced,  227, 
Screech,  230,  232. 
Short-eared,  229, 
Ox-eye,  251. 

Partridge,  237,  240. 
Peabody-lDird,  120. 

Peep,  251. 

Peto-bird,  23, 

Petrel,  272. 

Pewee,  129,  130,  233,  238. 
Bridge,  i66. 

Water,  i66. 

Wood,  161,169,170,171. 
Phalarope,  251. 

Pheasant,  237. 

Phoebe,  130,  i6t,  166,  167, 
168,  170,  236,  238. 
Pigeon,  201,  236. 

Wild,  235. 

Pintail,  269. 

Plover,  251. 

Black-breasted,  247. 
Golden,  247. 

Killdeer,  247,  248. 
Piping,  247. 
Ring-necked,  248,  249, 

251- 

Semipalmated,  248. 
Wilson’s,  247. 

Poke,  258,  261. 

Quail,  237,  238,  240. 
Qua-bird,  260. 

Quawk,  260. 


( 


28o 


Index 


Rail,  40»  254.  255,  262. 

Carolina,  256. 

Red-bird,  Black-winged,  86. 

Crested,  i33‘ 

Redstart,  65,  66,  147. 
Reedbird,  i37»  138. 
Ricebird,  i37»  138. 

Robin,  iii,  vi,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9, 
II,  12,  13,  IS,  46,  79, 
83,  86,  87,  107,  117, 

131.  134,  143.  145. 

I7'5.  I07»  200,  2015, 
223,  232,  247,  255. 
Golden,  146. 

Ground,  129,  130. 
Redbreast,  5,  130. 
Wood,  12. 

Sandpiper,  249,  250. 

Least,  249,  251. 
Semipalmated,  251. 
Spotted,  251. 
Sapsucker,  195,  196,  198. 

Yellow-bellied,  194* 
Scoter,  Surf,  270. 
Sea-swallow,  272. 
Sheldrake,  270. 

Shrike,  80,  81,  198,  223. 

Northern,  79,  81,  82. 
Silk-tail,  82. 

Skylark,  137. 

Snipe,  251,  253. 

Big-headed,  252. 

Blind,  252. 

Mud,  252. 

Wall-eyed,  252. 
Whistling,  252. 
Wilson’s,  252,  254. 
Wood,  252. 

Snow-bird,  Slate-coloured, 
123. 

Snowflake,  124. 

Sora,  256. 

Sparrow,  5,  10,  35,  36,  42, 
61,  66,  70,  80,  83,  86, 
104,  107,  127,  128, 

132,  138,  140,  183, 
242,  251. 


Sparrow,  Canada,  120. 

Chipping,  iii,  20,  112, 
116,  117,  119,  130. 

Door-step,  116. 

English,  24,  27,  33,  53, 
59,  64,  81,  97,  108, 
no.  III,  114,  115, 

116,  119,  121,  130, 
161,  163,  192,  197, 

248. 

Field,  112,  1 14,  1 19, 
130. 

Fox,  122,  123. 

Hair,  116. 

Song,  39,  109,  no,  in,, 
112,  113,  127,  130. 

Swamp,  III,  112. 

Tree,  119,  120. 

Vesper,  113,  114. 

White-crowned,  12 1. 

White-throated,  120, 
121,  122,  130. 

Stake-driver,  261. 

Starling,  Meadow,  143. 

Stint,  251. 

Swallow,  93»  94,  95.  96,  97^ 
108,  176,  182,  183. 

Bank,  loi,  102,  210. 

Barn,  98,  99,  100,  loi. 

Chimney,  180. 

Eave  or  Cliff,  100,  ioi„ 
104. 

Rough- winged,  102. 

Sand,  loi, 

Tree,  103,  104,  191. 

White-breasted,  103. 

Swift,  97,  176,  180,  181,  182,. 
183. 

Chimney,  93,  96,  190. 

Tanager,  Scarlet,  48,  86,  87, 
88,  89,  131,  139. 

Summer,  89. 

Teacher,  58,  39,  60. 

Teal,  Blue- winged,  269. 

Green- winged,  269. 

Teeter,  251. 

Teeter-snipe,  251. 


Index 


281 


Teeter-tail,  251. 

Tern,  272. 

Thistlebird,  124* 

Thrasher,  Brown,  15,  4i»  42, 
43,  44,  45»  49» 
Thrush,  42,  43,  55,  122,  140, 

Brown,  41- 
Golden-crowned,  58. 
Ground,  4i>  44- 
Hermit,  12. 

Long,  41- 
Migrator  y,  5- 
Red,  41- 

Red-breasted,  5. 

Song,  12. 

Wilson’s,  12,  14. 

Wood,  12,  13,  14,  15. 
Tilt-up,  251. 

Timber  Doodle,  252. 
Tip-up,  251. 

Titmouse,  21,  24,  25,  134, 
189,  191. 

Black-capped,  19. 
Crested,  23,  38. 

Tufted,  23,  26,  82, 
Tomtit,  Crested,  23. 
Towhee,  112,  122,  129,  130, 
131,  238. 

Tree  Mouse,  25. 

Turkey,  214, 

Turnstone,  251. 


Veery,  14,  15. 

Vireo,  69,  70,  82,  95,  114 
140,  145,  162,  171. 
Red-eyed,  v,  71,  72,  7^ 
75, 129,  169. 
Warbling,  74»  75- 
White-eyed,  v,  72,  7c 


Yellow-throated,  74. 
Vulture,  214. 

Black,  214. 

Turkey,  213. 


Warbler,  28,  54,  55»  S9»  64, 
65,66,69,70,95, 162. 
Black  and  White  Creep- 
ing, 57»  58,  189. 
Blackburnian,  66. 
Black-masked,Ground, 
61. 

Yellow,  V,  53.  54,55.  56, 
57,  62,  63,  125,  140. 
Waxwing,  23. 

Cedar,  82,  83,  85,  126, 
145- 

Whip- poor-will,  93, 175, 176, 
177,178,179,182,238. 
Whiskey  Jack,  157. 
Widgeon,  269. 

Wren,  hi,  19,  28,  29,  30,  34, 
35.  36,  37.  42,  43.  45. 
49,  104,  167,  191. 
Carolina,  37»  38. 

House,  33»  97. 

Marsh,  39,  40,  41,  in. 
Winter,  37. 

Woodcock,  128,  252,253,254. 
Woodpecker,  iv,  22,  24,  26, 
28,  57,  73,  140,  166, 
181,  189,  190,  192, 
194.  195,  198,  224, 
227,  230,  232,  241, 
252. 

Downy,  57,  189,  191, 
192,  193,  198. 
Golden- winged,  199. 
Hairy,  191,  192,  193, 

198. 

Red-headed,  197,  198, 

199. 

Yellow-bird,  Black- winged, 

124. 

Summer,  53. 
Yellowhammer,  199- 
Yellow- throat,  Maryland, 
54,  61,  III. 

Yucker,  199. 


